


It's All Contextual

by AlexWSpark



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: A hot second of angst and misunderstanding, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Dork Katsuki Yuuri, Dork Victor Nikiforov, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, M/M, POV Alternating, Pining Katsuki Yuuri, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:36:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexWSpark/pseuds/AlexWSpark
Summary: Why in the seven levels of fuck wasVictor Nikiforovbuying him coffee?Yuuri decides to find out.





	1. The Right Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no explanation for this sudden fic beyond the fact that I have writer's block, this is what my brain decided to spill out when I faced it head on, and I'm posting it because it's pretty cute.
> 
> Tons of love to [Ajwolf](http://ajwolf84.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing!

Yuuri awakens to a freshly brewed cup of coffee next to his hand, covered in an abundance of Christmas doodles that are prancing in his fuzzy line of sight. The warmth it emanates feels almost foreign against the chill permeating his skin. It's his own fault, really; his blazer and tie are neatly perched over the back of the chair and his sleeves are folded to both elbows, hopelessly creased, leaving him no protection from the gelid air and subjecting his pores to frigid assault. Yuuri is convinced that someone cranked up the office's air-conditioning because the past few days felt like he was maneuvering through the Winter Olympics rather the tropical climes of his current location.

He wraps a hand around the cup and breathes out happily. He's loathe to move from his position - cheek hibernating in the crook of his elbow, latter half of his arm cushioning his face - but the mystery of the coffee is rapidly shaking away his sleep, just like it did yesterday. Just like it did over the last year or so, in New York, Las Vegas and St. Lucia. Chris and Phichit have both denied any role in plying Yuuri with all manner of drinks - always exactly what he needs, like the double espresso sitting hot in his grasp, a boon from a mostly unforgiving universe. 

It takes a few seconds to ease himself into a sitting position and Yuuri peers through the glass panels of the conference room to the open-plan third floor - hopeful, expectant, optimistic...

There's not a soul in sight.

Yuuri frowns, taking a sip of coffee and ruffling his hair idly; he pushes a hand underneath his glasses and rubs at his eyes that are still recovering from the obligatory five a.m. catnap. He has a mind to go down to security and question them again in hopes of piecing together the puzzle of the drink favors - chai tea yesterday, an amaretto latte the day before that. Both were given to him by the young woman working the graveyard shift, but shifts would have changed by now and any prospect of questioning the messenger were long past. His friends are definitely going to kill him for falling asleep again, convinced that the sworn-to-silence delivery agent could be negotiated with; Yuuri did plan to indulge their enthusiasm and fight the fatigue but after a late evening of conference calls across three time zones and then dinner with the company's executives, Yuuri wryly contemplates his own resilience and just how much farther he could push his limits.

His consultancy with the telecom only lasts another few days and then he's taking a vacation, goddammit. He wonders if the drinks would find him in some far away resort; a smile blossoms on his face as he thinks that he wouldn't mind that one bit. 

Being a bit of a workaholic means that Yuuri has spent most of his time since he arrived on the island alone in the office at ungodly hours; he prefers the ubiquitous quiet, chasing those solitary hours to help configure his mind for the day ahead. His hotel room is nice but encourages inertia, and with a schedule that reads like it was written for a self-charging robot, Yuuri forgoes sleep to ensure he stays on top of things. 

Indulging the java - expressly bitter and latching to his system in a molten flux - gives Yuuri pause. At Ad Week in New York, it was scotch on the rocks; the bartender only grinned and refused to divulge who had bought him the drink which irked Yuuri enough to decline it. Later in the evening, a sealed and boxed bottle of the same scotch was delivered to his hotel room. At CES in Vegas, there was bubble tea waiting for him at the hotel reception every morning from his favorite place in the city. At the telecom's regional head office in St. Lucia, a gift basket of Caribbean rums and a bouquet of local flowers were the damage. 

"Someone _really_ likes you, Yuuri," Phichit commented when Yuuri video-called him and showed off his spoils, "Are you sure there's no card or anything?"

"I'm sure, Phi. I checked like five times. And no one at reception knows or they don't want to say. This is insane."

Yuuri sighs as he ruminates, twirling the cup around in his palms; it's different from the other two he's collected this week, with its festive design that he recognizes as the local coffee franchise's Christmas offering. It's only when he spots a bright orange 'Yuuri' printed on the side of the cup, along with a 'Hope you catch up on some sleep!' does his attention spectacularly surge and pop. There's never been messages before! He scrambles for his phone and takes a picture, sending it to Phichit as his mind races. It's thoughtful and cute, the latter a word Yuuri doesn't get to use very often. 

 

**From: Phichit**

GO TALK TO THE BARISTA RIGHT NOW

 

**To: Phichit**

But that's never worked before

What's the point?

**From: Phichit**

Do. It. 

For science

For the Horde

For the love of fucking God

For me

 

Yuuri snorts and rolls his eyes; a walk would do him good and the coffee shop is conveniently right across the street. Why not? Maybe he'll pick up a muffin to compensate for the information he's not going to get.

The local coffee franchise is cosy and inviting in the slight morning nip and their drinks have been decent thus far. For Yuuri, it's more the thought behind it than the actual drink that he's concerned with. He's traveled far and wide, slept in many a conference room and worked far too many hours for his own good - being greeted with such muted kindness over and over again is a source of contentment and frustration for Yuuri. Shows of grandeur are what he's accustomed to, all of which he politely sidesteps (or takes advantage of language barriers to avoid) because offering to fly him out to the Maldives while suggestively squeezing his arm is the grossest misinterpretation of Yuuri's personality _ever_.

These shows, however, are hard to brush off because 1) he's never been given the opportunity to and 2) the anonymous generosity asks for nothing in return; there were never addendums or conditions, no requests left for his anxiety to mull over. Whoever the person is, they're both understanding and maddening, which has worked some kind of magic on Yuuri's defenses; to admit that he's charmed would be a definite understatement.

There's no one inside the shop save for staff and Yuuri strolls up to the barista, cup in hand, smile open and friendly in hopes that lady luck is on his side today. 

"Good morning. Um, this is a kind of strange question but can you remember who came in to buy this cup of coffee?"

She brightens like the impending sunrise, "Oh, you're Yuuri?"

"I am."

"We asked the same thing when he gave a name for the order that was different from his credit card. The way he blushed when we confirmed your name, it was very sweet. Are you all playing Secret Santa or something?"

"Uh, no," Yuuri bumbles, "Who was blushing?"

"Victor," she beams, completely unaware that Yuuri's entire stomach has promptly dropped to his foot.

_Impossible! It couldn't be..._

Yuuri's heart whirs and whines and _wants_ , "D-Did he have silv- um...platinum hair?"

A jovial nod, "Do you all work together?"

Yuuri stares at the cup, blinking as she takes his silence for assent and rambles on; her words fade into static, usurped by a singular thought:

Why in the seven levels of fuck was _Victor Nikiforov_ buying him coffee?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos and love welcome <3
> 
> [Follow me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/AlexWSpark)   
>  [Find me on Tumblr](https://alexwspark.tumblr.com/)   
> 


	2. Getting the Hang of Thursdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursdays are hard and Yuuri is _done_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the great response to the fic thus far! This one is a bit of guilty pleasure for me and it's definitely helping me kick my writer's block in the ass. Hope you all enjoy Chapter 2 <3
> 
> All the rainbows to [Ajwolf](http://ajwolf84.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing!
> 
> P.S. There's an easter egg in here from one of my fav books. Can you guess what it is? :D

**Advertising Week, New York**

**September 2016**

Yuuri merges with the Playstation Theater crowd, head ducked to hide his dim expression. He spent weeks fine-tuning his approach, had the whole scenario directed in his head - the moderator would acknowledge his raised hand and Yuuri, with squared shoulders and blooming confidence, would take the mic, look Victor in the eye and say "My questions are for Mr. Nikiforov". It would be fresh and thought-provoking; Yuuri would draw strength from the terrible crush he had on Victor, creating lovely banter between them while everyone listened, rapt and intrigued. 

Instead, Yuuri leaves yet another one of Victor's panels with nothing to show for it except a very uncomfortable staring match with the young man passing around one of the mics to the audience. Having said man tap him gently on the shoulder to ask in a whisper whether there was anything he would like to contribute to the discussion was more graciousness than Yuuri deserved. 

_So many opportunities wasted_ , Yuuri thinks, clinging a little tighter to his messenger bag in an effort to ease his frustration. He tugs at the short end of his tie next, the tightening around his neck a sharp berating in lieu of him being unable to fucking scream. Maybe he'll perform Japanese dogeza in front of his hotel room mirror in deference to his brain which is giving him the silent treatment. 

Ad Week is now over and gone too is Yuuri's last chance to say something to Victor, to wow the man who wrote the book on demystifying the ad tech industry. He's an inspiration; every speech fluid and accessible, every encounter rich and sustainable. The five panels Victor spoke at - and yes, Yuuri attended every one - were all packed to capacity.

The stupidest thing about Yuuri's regret is the fact that he has a voice, and a respected one at that. He spoke on several panels himself, deep dives into future-proofing programmatic advertising and balancing automation with personalized customer relationships, among other challenging topics. If Yuuri has any integrity at all, he would eat all his words; he did not get to talk about relationship-building in one breath and then spend precious moments shadowed in the back row of Victor's panels, like a coward.

Why Yuuri continues to torture himself like this is beyond him. Phichit is constantly reciting his key stats: Ivy League graduate, expert in audience data, constantly sought after in both a professional and winking way. And he really believed it today, had recited the mantra from the hotel to the theater; Yuuri was ready to make an impression and maybe, just maybe, have Victor notice him.

Sure, they met before - an initial introduction a year ago and then brief conversations among groups across a barrage of networking events - but nothing of substance. Even the projects their respective companies have worked on together provided no one-on-one time. All strict professional settings that forcefully cordoned off blood to his love-struck dick. Difficult. Uncomfortable. Severely unsatisfying when he eventually dealt with it alone. And after today - with the stage's lighting bathing Victor's hair in a glittery sheen, a tailored blazer that cut a dashing figure, and the passion in his voice as he spoke - Yuuri knows exactly what his shower will entail that evening. 

He can go back, though. Victor might still be at the stage area and it'll be easier to have a tete-a-tete with him. His brain thrums to life, greatly interested in the possibility of self-redemption. Yuuri nods to himself, determined, turning on his heels back to the conference room. Yes, he can do this. And even if Victor isn't there, he couldn't have gone far. Yuuri will find him and have a constructive conversation with his idol and vindicate himself and-

Nope. Nope. Nonono. Yuuri halts, makes a one-eighty and walks towards the exit again. Next conference. Next consultation with the telecom that both their companies are a part of. _There'll be other times_ , Yuuri firmly tells himself.

He stops again, and retraces his steps back to Victor. _Next time is too far_. A sizable reserve of admiration and respect and (God help him) _longing_ bubbles in him; he has to do this  _now._

And Yuuri shuffles back and forth for ages as his heart, brain and anxiety play a rousing game of monopoly that is garnering concerned looks from persons filtering around him. Bless his heart which sits pretty on a massive chunk of change, but his anxiety pockets the coveted dark blue properties, sinister in having them both fully upgraded. His brain calls bankruptcy and logic goes out the window. The risk to move forward is too high, no matter how generous his feelings towards Victor are.

It's back to the hotel with him.

There's a twinge in his chest and a sparking pain along his temple upon that final decision. He'll get some rest before the mixer later, take some meds and sleep off his embarrassing display. Something sizzles in his throat and stings his eyes as he pulls out his phone to book a Lyft.

"Mr. Katsuki!"

Yuuri hears his name in the thick buzz of the crowd but doesn't register it until the third try - "Mr. Kat- Yuuri! Yuuri, wait, p-!" - and he must be just this side of crazy because it sounds a lot like Victor's voice. 

Yuuri sighs. Of course it does. But Victor Nikiforov would never be caught hailing someone like a taxi. Why the fuck is the universe playing tricks on him? Honestly, it's plain cruel. 

He still hazards a glance over his shoulder and a quiet laugh escapes him at the inanity of things like hope. A man and his dozens of balloons stand in the way; a comical parade of colorful creations stretches in width, height and sheer number, obstructing the view completely. 

Yuuri resumes his march to the exit, air whooshing out of him like he's been popped. _Fucking Thursdays_ , he gripes, stepping out into the thunderous city and thinking (albeit skeptically) that someday, maybe, he'll get the hang of them.

 

* * *

**The Caribbean**

**November 2017**

"Yuuri, calm down-"

"I am sleep deprived and fully caffeinated, Phi! I am not in a position conducive to calm!"

Yuuri is sheltered in the office bathroom, gesticulating wildly, an air dancer caught in competing wind cycles. His glasses are askew from constantly rubbing his eyes and face, and the concentrated chill does nothing to ease how sticky and gross his hands have become. Phichit and Chris are on Skype attempting to talk him down as he pulls another three napkins to dry his hands.

"Okay. Then by all means, freak out."

"Victor Nikiforov is fucking with me! There is no other explanation!"

Phichit and Chris share corresponding looks and barely concealed smirks; since their engagement a few months ago, they've been more in sync than ever. Chris rests his cheek in his palm, grin widening much to Yuuri's exasperation.

"Have you considered, chéri, that Mr. Nikiforov likes to know that your insides are well and truly sopping?"

"That's worse than the last one, Chris," Yuuri scowls.

"Darling, even I run out of material. Do yourself a favor and talk to the poor man, will you?"

"Fuck. No," Yuuri punctuates his words by snatching up more napkins, "This has to be some kind of tactic. Maybe a social experiment? Something to put in his new book?" he snaps his fingers like he's stumbled on a revelation; his friends stare at him, obviously unimpressed, "Yes! That makes perfect sense, right? The effect of long-term generosity on audience perception...or something."

"At this rate, you'll definitely be the outlier," Phichit faux muses and Yuuri hisses in response; Phichit flashes a brilliant smile, "Yuuri, Occam's razor. This isn't one of your publications, there's no complex factors in play here. My bet is that this is a side of Victor that people don't see. Can't he be nice?"

"To _me_?" Yuuri's tone cracks down the middle, "Guys, Victor Nikiforov isn't _nice_. He just _is_. He walks into a room and people _do_. The world where he has time to get anything for a dime-a-dozen consultant does not exist."

Chris waggles a finger, "Firstly, dime-a-dozen applies to the sand on the beach you visited yesterday, not you. And secondly, I'm sure Victor has his reasons for the anonymity up until now just like you have your reasons for keeping your distance. Just because he carries himself a certain way in a boardroom doesn't mean that that's his default."

"You know what they say," Phichit winks, "polished in the streets, provocative in the-"

"Why the hell would he be in the area this early?" Yuuri wonders aloud, bright red and fucking suffering from his friends' insufferable but oh so apt conclusions, "the executive meeting doesn't start until nine."

"I can think of a few reasons. Look in a mirror, buddy, and start from the top."

Phichit never misses a beat and Yuuri groans, muttering in coarse, entirely improper Japanese; he knows they both pick out the pertinent curses because Chris addresses him again with a chuckle.

"Yuuri, contrary to what you may think, you're a hell of a catch. Victor has impeccable taste, if you ask me."

"Thank you," Yuuri sulks and it's sixty percent sincere.

"I'm pretty sure he would tell you that himself if you actually spoke to him."

"Are you fucking crazy?" Yuuri squawks, "The last person I saw who tried to flirt with him ended up in tears."

"That person wasn't Yuuri Katsuki," Phichit slyly points out. Yuuri gestures madly to himself as his voice dips into manic territory.

"That person was the CEO of a very successful Silicon Valley startup so excuse me if I'm not rushing at the opportunity to make an ass of myself in front of someone as gorgeous and brilliant as Victor!"

"Victor's a bit of a masochist, don't you think, sweetheart?" Chris says to Phichit who nods in agreement; he eyes Yuuri questioningly, "You have to agree, chéri, admiring you from afar has to be excruciating."

"Victor isn't _admiring_ -"

"And what has admiring Victor gotten _you_? Besides sweaty hands and a fine collection of blue balls." 

Yuuri slumps over the counter, "How is any of this helping, you bastards?"

"Please," Chris says, "like you're not already aware of how Victor makes you feel."

Yuuri's mouth works around some choice retorts but they all coalesce into a soft click of teeth and the haunting crimson that sits pretty on the shells of his ears. He sneaks a look into the mirror because what is self-deprecation without a full blown school-boy blush?

He can't deny his friends' goading. Yuuri is far outside the realm of a simple crush; he's had ample time to watch his heart trip over air at the mere thought of Victor. And it's not purely provocative either; much of his career revolves around Victor's ad tech teachings and without a doubt, he's blossomed as a consultant because of them. Victor might not know it but he's brought Yuuri to a place he couldn't have reached alone. 

So, it doesn't matter that they haven't spoken to each other on this trip and it wouldn't have affected Yuuri (much) if that remained constant; the new project they're working on with the telecom is an astronomical regional affair and things have been borderline crazy. Yuuri is operating on sheer will and generous coffee. But now he knows that Victor's the one responsible for his caffeine rush, that Victor has quietly brightened so many of Yuuri's days. It's not a typo or a trick of the light; in some ways it feels like an extra zero added to an already large number. In most ways, it's priceless. Victor is many things but this kind of distanced intimacy is not something Yuuri pegged him for.

And intimacy towards _him_ , no less. Victor Nikiforov, who commands a room and commandeers all sense; who is on the Forbes thirty under 30 list and is as eligible as they come; whose voice feels like a siren call, deep and alluring; who talks animatedly about his poodle, smile heart-shaped and impossible one second, then stoic and unreadable the next.  _That_ Victor is now responsible for the circus that are Yuuri's emotions; he feels like he's on a flying trapeze without a net below. 

Yuuri has to know why. His nerves are aflame and he's sure his bowels will betray him soon but fuck, there's no way he can walk away from this; regret is one thing but heartache is another beast entirely.

"I'll talk to him," Yuuri says at last, "After the meeting. I'll think of something."

"Seriously?!" Phichit and Chris squeal in unison.

"Yes. I'll do it. Pray for me."

"Bravo, cheri!" Chris claps enthusiastically, "Any ideas on how you intend to woo him?"

Yuuri butts his head against the counter-top with a less than acceptable whine.

 

* * *

It must be Thursday. Yuuri never had a handle on the wretched day in the first place but this particular Thursday is playing jump rope with his delicate nerves; the speed is rigged and his heart imprints on his chest with every hammering beat. To have the reins taken from his morning, thrusting him into the extraordinary and outright insane reality of Victor hydrating his life, well, Yuuri's composure is understandably skittish. He spent a furious hour in the bathroom smoothing his hair and shirt, and practicing several possible openers that quickly deteriorated into excessive groans and serious considerations of retiring.

Now, he sits in the large conference room surrounded by his colleagues and the telecom's executive representatives while Victor stands at the head of the table, voice projecting into the ambient scribbling and rustling of pens and people. He speaks clearly, weaving strategy and process with the intricacy of an artist; no detail goes untouched, no pointer too complex, no question glossed over. Yuuri has the edge of a pen between his teeth and it's a catastrophe of extending fissures, the risk of spilling ink all over himself more likely by the second; he taps endlessly at the trackpad on his laptop and dies a little every time Victor tucks stray silver tendrils behind his ear. 

It's nothing short of divine intervention that allows Yuuri to concentrate for the two hours they're in the room. He presents on behalf of his team, crisp and definite (save for his wobbling knees), fully aware of Victor in his peripheral; the man's stoic manner never wavers, a look of absolute immersion etched in his features as questions are traded and the agenda moves on. 

When the meeting finally ends, Yuuri lingers; he packs his laptop and day planner like he's defusing a bomb, frantic as he thinks: _Do something, do something, it's time to fucking do something, Yuuri!_

Victor is swarmed and smiling. There's a poise about him, firm but compelling, and Yuuri is all too familiar with that smile, one he uses himself when he's balancing the line of accessible and unreachable. His brain gives him an uncharacteristically gentle nudge: didn't the barista tell him that Victor blushed when he bought the coffee? What was going through Victor's mind in that moment? What was Victor thinking all those other times he graced Yuuri with drinks? What kind of smile did he have then?

_And was the smile just for me?_

Yuuri does the unthinkable at that - he looks up, squares his shoulders and dares to make complete eye contact with Victor. _Don't falter, don't blink, hold, Yuuri, hold_! Naturally, he chooses right then to remind himself of the time he sweated through to his bones during a particularly tense exchange between Victor and a manager that kept interrupting his presentation. Yuuri shivers, fighting to keep the bare smile playing on his lips, adjusting his glasses and hoping he isn't being unbearably creepy and-

And Victor's cheeks are suddenly ghosted pink. Yuuri blinks. That can't be right. But...but, _holy shit_ , it is. Victor's face is a handsome blend of peaches and cream, lips parting slightly, the brief downward cast of his eyes completing the unbelievable reaction as he asks the person in front of him to repeat their question. Victor glances back at him - once, twice - little indulgences that Yuuri can't believe are directed at him.

Yuuri grabs his messenger bag and walks, strong, purposeful, a step ahead of the ugly voice wanting to hold him back. He dodges a few arms and cuts between a couple conversations before planting himself in Victor's general space and speaking with no regard for life or limb.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt but would you like to have lunch with me after this, Victor? I'd love to hear more about your plans for upcoming projects such as this one."

Someone snorts behind him. The whispers follow it. Yuuri's initial burst of confidence crackles fearfully against the blooming fires; that is, until Victor replies, gaze shimmering with surprise, a bit of awe and... _oh..._ vulnerability.

"I'd like that, Yuuri. Lead the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos and love welcome <3
> 
> [Follow me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/AlexWSpark)   
>  [Find me on Tumblr](https://alexwspark.tumblr.com/)   
> 


	3. Feel My Heart Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Victor and adorableness.
> 
> Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is this story increasing in chapters? I certainly don't know, nor do I mind :D
> 
> Do enjoy!
> 
> Round of drinks for [Ajwolf](http://ajwolf84.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing!

Once upon a time, a desperate and exam-riddled Yuuri broke his own code of gastronomical conduct and ordered a bowl of katsudon from the blatantly suspect restaurant a block from his student housing. The first bite was mentally scarring; the fifth, physically debilitating. How he managed to pull off an A after wasting two days slumped over the toilet is a question he still plucks from his mental arsenal when his anxiety is being a right bitch.

Yuuri has a collection of those tidbits, constructive and comical moments he uses to fight against the dark side of his mind. As disruptive and ruthless as it can be, Yuuri is emphatic, if a little reckless, and it’s reflected in the additions he makes to his mental roster. Here was another such moment, unplanned and utterly perfect: Victor Nikiforov saying yes to lunch with him.

A comedy of professional errors ripples through the conference room at Victor's response - the unmistakable thump of a laptop charger hitting the commercial carpeting and the audible gasps that are hurriedly replaced by feigned coughs; the dumbfounded executive facing Victor, jaw swinging and eyes bulging, and the hush that hums in the collective disbelief of everyone present. It's the kind of event sequence that would trigger second-hand embarrassment in the most brazen character but none of them come close to scooping Yuuri from his trance.

In another life, where Victor isn't a lovely shade of rose, the neon 'ABORT! ABORT!' would've colored Yuuri pale from all the extra attention. But all of that superfluous concern is overridden as Victor smiles at him, soft yet sparkling; Yuuri immediately logs it as one of the best moments of his life.

"I'm sorry, Shawn, but can you drop me an email? We can discuss more about your idea then," Victor says, following his two astonishing sentences with the flimsiest apology to the man he was speaking with. He outright abandons the conversation, moving to gather his things with no trace of delicacy for the cold front settling over the room.

What finally jolts Yuuri into action are the specks of volatility in Victor's otherwise fluid movements — fluster showing in his small battle with the projector adapter attached to his laptop and snapping his folder shut so abruptly that a few pages are propelled from it before it closes. It's such an emotional niche, routine tasks to everyone else but Yuuri; he swallows around his shock, pushing the door open and gesturing for Victor to go out first. The smile he's rewarded with is even more twinkled than the first; a now dimpled bloom that treads the line of sociable and shy in a way Yuuri has never seen from him before. He's malfunctioning and doing a shit job of hiding it as Victor makes haste into the hallway, stopping to wait for Yuuri to join him so they can walk together to the elevator.

Yuuri's aware of the dozens of eyes that land on them, senses a dreadful heat seeping under his jacket and tries to blink away the tiny black dots swimming in his vision. One time in university, he wore his hand-knitted cardigan - the comfy teal ensemble that his mother sent to him some months before - inside out during a final presentation. He aced the thing and his professor only mentioned it afterwards (thank God), but that didn't stop Yuuri from triple-checking his clothes every few minutes for days. It's the same sensation he feels now, the idea that people are pressed up against the glass of him, ogling and judging. But Victor is there too and he’s leaving condensation against the glass of Yuuri’s _heart_. Victor nudges his shoulder, barely anything but a pinprick of contact over layers of annoying fabric but Yuuri feels like he's veered into a thunderstorm, lightning streaking along his veins.

"I have my rental in the garage. Do you want to get rid of all of this," Victor tugs at his jacket, "and we can decide what we're having? For lunch?"

Yuuri nods automatically, wondering why Victor tacks on those last two words. It can't be for the same reason Yuuri thinks; there's absolutely no way Victor is rolling over the many ways two people can make use of a rental car. Yuuri pinches himself, _hard_ ; he really has no decorum sometimes, fuck.

They ride to the basement in an oddly warm silence dotted with furtive peeks at each other. Every one sugars Yuuri's insides and brightens his cheeks, more so when he hears Victor chuckle softly, adventitious and sweet. It’s so good, so silly even that Victor seems as affected as he is by the sudden turn their Thursday has taken.

The garage is blisteringly hot, and Yuuri knows outside will be an equally sunny blitz; Victor's forethought is more than welcome given the island's humidity. He's about to voice his gratefulness (and maybe use it as an opener) as Victor pops the trunk of his Corolla. But then Victor is placing his bag and shedding his jacket in a smooth motion that see his shirt tightening around his chest and arms, taut blue pinstripes a flawless match for his eyes.

Yuuri gulps. He doesn't care that it echoes. He does care about the tiny, almost imperceptible smirk that passes breezily over Victor's lips; _Wha- that was deliberate?!_ _Jesus..._ Yuuri relinquishes his own belongings and works his sleeves to his elbow, folds parallel and clean. He tucks two fingers above the knot on his tie and draws the silk down; it falls soundlessly into his hand while Victor clears his throat and averts his face, fringe obscuring the fine points of his expression.

"There's a small bistro at the end of this street. They have the best sautéed mushrooms," Yuuri suggests, chucking his tie into the pile, "Unless you had somewhere else in mind?"

Victor shakes his head, closes the trunk a little harder than is necessary, "No, no. I trust whatever you recommend."

Yuuri looks up at Victor with a thankful smile, and reaches out to pluck a bundle of small threads off Victor's shoulder.

"Lint," Yuuri says; _deliberate_. He walks, hides his trembling hand in his pocket, digs nails into his thigh. It takes another three steps for Victor to catch up and fall into stride with him. If the rest of the day is as lively as the last ten minutes, Yuuri might find another bout of courage to tell Victor that he understands much of the Russian he’s murmuring under his breath.

They stroll up a slight incline and round the corner towards the main road, sun provoking crinkles as they both squint and adjust to the sunny blitz. The coffee shop comes into view and Yuuri smiles, a mixture of fondness and mischief; he glances at Victor and takes the plunge.

"Their espresso is good," Yuuri comments. Victor's neck is a column of red and Yuuri guesses it's not at all the sun's fault.

"Yeah. And a convenient, um," Victor coughs, "location. Smart franchising.”

“Very.”

“I actually prefer their other location, the one across the road from the Canadian Embassy. H-have you been? Their brownie cookies are really good.”

Yuuri doesn’t push, allows Victor to change the subject with an open smile. They talk about the cuisine in the general area; there's no shortage of options - Korean, Chinese, Indian, Creole - and it becomes an easy exchange of things they've tried during their travels. It loosens them both, a tender note Yuuri makes as Victor recounts an unfortunate encounter with food poisoning some months before. He never dreamed to have Victor this close, wanting to be there, sharing personal stories with him; Yuuri can't help but feel like he's threading an over-sized needle, effortless and uncomplicated.

Case in point: the sight of someone on the opposite side of the street dressed in an embellished and fluffed orange trench-coat spurs a joint whisper of "But the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy". Their gazes snap to each other and they pause on the pavement, overtaken by giggles in their shared wavelength.

The bistro is empty at the early lunch hour, elegantly decorated in traditional garlands and fairy lights, and finished with a striking Christmas tree in shiny red and gold. They're greeted by the hostess and spend a few minutes perusing the menu for Victor's benefit before placing their orders; Victor enthusiastically points to the large dispenser that's three-quarter filled with sorrel, lamenting that it's been too long since he last had it.

"So, did you have a specific project in mind?" Victor asks as they take a seat.

"Huh?"

Victor’s lips twitch up, the only giveaway from his altogether earnest delivery, "That's what you said back at the office, right? You wanted to talk to me about work."

"Ah," Yuuri combs back his hair with a laugh to match Victor's teasing, "To be honest, I think we’ve earned a break after that meeting, don’t you?”

Victor’s expression goes sunny-side up and Yuuri blushes under the pleasant reaction; he’s flaring when Victor doesn’t give an inch of attention to the hostess resting a glass of sorrel in front of him.

"It's really good to see you again, Yuuri. I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to talk on this trip."

Yuuri waves a hand (and fervently wills the heat from his face), "You don't need to apologize. Your reputation precedes you and I can appreciate having your attention pulled in a thousand directions. I'm pretty sure you have enough to worry about without factoring in one-on-one meetings.”

Victor’s fingertip circles the rim of his glass, a little idle, a lot thoughtful, “Depends on the person.”

Yuuri covers the squeak that climbs to his lips by shifting his chair, legs grating against the tile. What can he say to that? What can he possibly say to Victor’s coy gaze that, like all the drinks he’s given to Yuuri, demands nothing from him?

“It’s good to see you too, Victor.” _I missed working with you. I missed hearing you in person. I missed seeing you around. I missed_ you _._

“No more shop talk,” Victor says with a gentle smile, “How have things been with you outside the ad world?”

"Well…my best friends, Chris and Phichit, are getting married in a few months and I've been charged with the venue. They refused to get married stateside and spent weeks begging me to pull some strings with my Caribbean contacts," Yuuri titters, remembering the double-whammy of puppy dog eyes Chris and Phichit fed him for weeks, not knowing that he'd already made arrangements with three different resorts so they would have prime selection, "They settled on Jade Mountain in St. Lucia. I helped cut their marketing costs in half a couple years ago so they were more than happy to tailor one hell of a package for me."

"That's wonderful! How did you all meet?"

"At a summer internship at Google HQ. We sat together at orientation, argued about the pros and cons of Battlestar Galactica and have been inseparable since. Phichit works at Facebook now, managing one of their Commercial Content teams and Chris runs a boutique hair salon out of San Francisco. His first degree is in Engineering and Applied Sciences but he always said that the thing that stressed him out the most at Yale was the fact that his fellow students weren't doing their hair justice."

Victors giggles, flicking his bangs up with his index finger, "Maybe you can introduce me? I got a haircut on my layover in Miami but honestly, I've never met a stylist who I trust enough to settle with. No one ever gets my undercut right.”

Yuuri tries not to advertise his desire for such a scenario or that he’s well aware of the mild flaw on the left bottom of Victor’s head, "S-sure. They're on vacation in Curacao right now. They were supposed to make a stop in St. Lucia but decided against it because, and I quote, 'Yuuri, you have unparalleled attention to detail, so there's no need for us to get in your or the coordinators’ way. We're one hundred and fifty percent sure you're keeping them in check'."

"They're not wrong."

"Um..." Yuuri fiddles with his glasses, tracing back to the loop over his ear, "Thank you."

"Sorry, I just...I read your briefs," Victor says softly.

"Oh." Well, that's to be expected. Yuuri organizes all of his work on a Sharepoint and makes specific documents accessible to persons involved in his projects. Victor, of course, needs a holistic view of all moving parts; it's no surprise that he would pay attention to every facet of information at his disposal. But there's something about the way he looks at Yuuri; it's anything but predictable, certainly not generic or calculating but Yuuri can't find the right word to describe it.

"I read all of them," Victor reiterates, more clearly this time, "and I have to agree with your friends. Your briefs always remind me of the first time we met. I don’t know if you remember but our group spoke about connected spaces and innovative technologies with regards to evolving offices. We were interrupted and then swept away by the crowd, unfortunately, but I never forgot your extrapolation. You write the same way you speak — without fear."

 _Fear. That's the word. Victor's afraid...?_ As the thought manifests, Yuuri can't refute what he sees; it's brushed all over Victor's features, hints of a story that confuse and worry Yuuri.

"Whenever we’re on the same project," Victor continues and Yuuri knows he's noticed Yuuri's observing because he blinks towards the window instead, "I always read your work first. They're always a...favorite of mine. Concise, clean, sassy in all the right places. It's a pity we never got to sit down before beyond handshakes and 'Hellos'."

"We're here now,” Yuuri says, knowing it doesn't convey a fraction of what he truly feels, “To be honest, I was surprised you said yes to me."

Again, Victor watches him curiously, then busies himself with the strap of his watch, voice impossibly delicate, "You thought I wouldn't?"

Yuuri takes a very deep breath; _this is as good a time as any_ , "I haven't really done a lot of thinking since I went to the coffee shop and talked to the barista this morning."

Pink is definitely Victor's color, Yuuri decides, watching the color sweep over his cheekbones. Yuuri smiles and so does Victor, albeit more nervously than before.

"Thank you, Victor. For the coffee and for everything."

"You're welcome, Yuuri," Victor says, warm and relieved, "I'm...I'm really glad you figured it out. I was hoping you would."

Despite that, Yuuri can see the cogs of Victor's trepidation working itself silly - _Did I overstep my bounds? Did I do something wrong? -_ a sight that feels like the sun is in his eye again.

"Me too. I wish I could've said thanks sooner."

Victor offers him a smile so unlike what Yuuri is used to; it's self-conscious, strangely lopsided, almost boyish in its sweetness. There's something else there, though, and for a second time, Yuuri can't put his finger on the word-

"I attended all your panels at Adweek last year!" Victor practically yells before grabbing his drink and downing it in two large chugs.

Yuuri's train of thought is clipped, plummeting to the downy surface of Victor's unexpected admission. He stares, eyes wide, and Victor reciprocates, face steaming.

_Dork. That's the other word. Oh my God!_

"You...did?"

"Oh fuck," Victor buries his face in his hands, muffled as he rambles, "I'm sorry, Yuuri. I completely understand if you want to leave right now."

"Victor..."

"I'm pretty sure you were expecting someone different and with a little... _a lot_ more tact," Victor smiles weakly.

Yuuri bows his head, hair falling over his lens, "We have that in common. I...I sat in on all your panels, too."

"What?! But I only saw you at one..."

There's something about the way Victor says it, like he's mulling over things in his mind, checking the details, doubting himself; Yuuri stutters, "You were looking out for me?"

"Of course I was!" Victor sighs, "I've been trying to talk to you for a long time, Yuuri. I never knew what to say, especially after your Evolution of Programmatic panel. I don't know if you've noticed, but you're kind of intimidating."

"I... _what_?"

"You have a very singular expression. It's terrifying sometimes."

Yuuri touches his cheek, "My face is terrifying?"

"Yes!" Victor sucks in a breath, "No! _No_. Your face is...it's very...it's not terrifying, per se."

Yuuri feels like he's sixteen again with the conversation they're having; he finds himself not annoyed by it, only bolstered, "You're one to talk."

"Excuse me?"

"If anyone's intimidating, it's you! Did you see how everyone was looking at you in the meeting this morning?"

Victor sputters for a moment, pouts, then bursts out laughing, bright and boisterous, complete with a loud and long snort. Yuuri covers his mouth in an attempt to stifle his own chuckle but it's futile and soon, they were both leaning over the table, red-faced and damp-eyed.

"How did you even make that assumption?" Yuuri jokes, "and what were you even doing in that panel? You wrote the book on future-proofing Programmatic advertising. That had to be monotonous for you, right…?”

Yuuri's mouth snaps shut at how alarmingly pale Victor becomes; there's not a hint of humor or blushing, only pure hesitance and...and _hurt_. Yuuri’s heart slows, suspended in the fading sparkle of Victor’s eyes.

"Victor?"

"You..." Victor tilts his head, hair framing the movement, voice small and slow, "Yuuri, you don't remember?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor POV in 3...2...1...
> 
> Comments, kudos and love welcome <3
> 
> [Follow me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/AlexWSpark)   
>  [Find me on Tumblr](https://alexwspark.tumblr.com/)   
> 


	4. Don't Look Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor tells his story and hopes for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY, Chapter 4! I hope you all enjoy Vic's POV <3
> 
> All the hugs to [Ajwolf](http://ajwolf84.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing!
> 
> Here's a link to a commission I did for this chapter, [Yuuri and Victor on the beach](https://twitter.com/AlexWSpark/status/940669412327198720) drawn by the lovely Tanaw!

_The devil’s in the details and Victor Nikiforov will find them._

That is Victor’s modus operandi if the many dissections of his career are anything to go by. Even the guy over at Marketing Week, who has an inflated threshold for doling out criticism, holds him in high regard (not as high as Yuuri, which always fills Victor with satisfaction because, _God_ , Yuuri deserves nothing but the world at his perfect feet).

Even now, that notion isn’t corrupted by the confirmation that Yuuri doesn’t remember their Adweek... _encounter_? Huh. Still not right. And now that Yuuri is in front of him, Victor’s bungee jumping without a rope, words blurred uselessly in his downwards careen.

Part of him - that sacrosanct self-defense mechanism, fierce and infallible as it needs to be in this industry - thinks to excuse himself and forgo lunch entirely in favor of going back to the hotel and burrowing himself under all of the blankets. It’s pathetic to wallow but this is Yuuri, and Victor has spent so long looking from afar that he can’t help how it stings.

The other part can’t turn away from the horrified expression on Yuuri’s face, big doe eyes churned murky brown, diluted of their original laughter and mettle.

Yuuri always wears his deeper emotions on his sleeve — Victor learned that early on in the professional spaces they shared. There were so many quick to slap the label of ‘ingenue’ on Yuuri (sloppy conclusions based solely on ego and envy), but the second Yuuri opened his mouth, they all regretted their decision.

Victor has seen that fiery beast: resolute, intelligent and _passionate_ ; he’s also seen Yuuri relaxed, smiling and enjoying himself at the corporate mixers and client events. But, as beautiful as those were and as much as they made Victor _feel_ , those were the standard menu of emotions.

This Yuuri, the one who snatched him from the crowd for lunch, who slipped off his tie like he was about to wrap it around Victor’s wrists, who is an unabashed Harry Potter fan, stares at him; it’s subtle and anxious and Victor is stunned.

He thought of a million scenarios that could lead to their current conversation. His imagination ran amok with ideas of what Yuuri would say,  all of them less convincing that the last, but he never considered that not being able to recall their brush at Adweek would be Yuuri’s response.

There’s no point now in hiding his hurt or smiling it away, not with Yuuri’s confusion throwing all of Victor’s previous assumptions off kilter. Yuuri continues to search him, panic crawling into his features, head a string of aborted shakes as he silently pleads for Victor to elaborate. But Victor doesn't have a game plan for this; this was one scenario he didn't have a contingency for. He scrapes at the bottom of his disbelief, finds nothing but the screeching halt of tires near to half words and unintelligible puffs of air.

The biggest secret in the midst of all of this is that Victor wasn’t even needed on this excursion. It was discretionary. The telecom gave him the option of calling in for the meetings but when they confirmed who would be in attendance, Victor found himself pushing back another trip and rescheduling a bundle of other endeavors because a week in the same space as Yuuri is somehow a major priority.

But ever since he met Yuuri, Victor has made such - bold? generous? hopeless? stupid? - leaps. Yuuri’s recent column in Adage was lauded as one of the best overviews of the current state of Programmatic transparency. P&G’s Chief Brand Officer cited Yuuri’s piece multiple times in his rousing speech to the industry. Victor’s respect for the publication was immeasurable; it became verbatim for him as he journeyed from New York to the South Caribbean, body goose-bumped with subdued arousal. He got a haircut, bought three, very lavish suits, even picked out new socks which was really overdoing it because Yuuri’s gaze never made it past his face before.

That gaze now dispenses more than Victor can keep up with, several battering rams to his heart.

“Remember what?” Yuuri ventures, careful as he still begs for an explanation with his eyes. Trust was never a buffet experience for Victor; advertising is cutthroat, as so many industries are. If this were anyone else, Victor would choose to silently scoff and then categorically dismiss. But Yuuri isn’t lying, isn’t pretending. For all his soft glances and shy demeanor, for all the moments of absolute tenacity, here is Yuuri laid bare, genuinely spooked that he’s done something terrible.

Victor weighs his options. It’s habit more than anything and he already knows that he’s not leaving until he gets to the bottom of this. Yuuri made an excellent point before - “We’re here now” he said, and if this is Victor’s last chance…

“Victor, please, what are you talking about?”

 _Fuck. Fuck it._ “It’s kind of a long story…”

 

* * *

**San Francisco**

**September 2015**

The evening manages to wind itself into a maze that Victor knows will inevitably end in executive boredom. There’s only so much jargon and people fishing to coin the next buzzword that one can stomach before the inner eye rolls start demanding a public forum. At the very least, the wine isn’t the cheap selection and the catered dinner was actually decent enough to give the room service at Victor’s hotel a run for its money.

So, Victor compromises by swiping a fourth glass of sauvignon from the rows lined across the elegantly lit bar and mingles with the crowd some more. He takes advantage of the network in the room, flaunts that signature smile that pops as incandescently as his hair; he doesn’t mind giving the performance tonight considering that he’ll be on a plane in the morning. His best friend, Mila, has a layover in New York and barring any delays on both their ends, they’re catching up over a late lunch.

 _Another ten minutes,_ he thinks, checking his watch for good measure. It’s not terribly late and, if need be, his impending flight is the perfect excuse to slip past any peer pressure. Not to mention that he can go for a soft pair of sweats and a worn in t-shirt sooner rather than later. The suit he’s wearing is tailored to a fault and hugs him in all the right places but God, he’s been back and forth in meetings for days wearing variations of his current getup and he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t bordering on stifling now.

 _Actually, screw clothes altogether_ , Victor muses as he sips on his wine. What better way to end the day than to roll butt naked in five-star linens?

And, it’s on the cusp of that image that Yuuri Katsuki walks into the room.

 _I didn’t know he’d be here tonight!_ Victor fusses with the knot on his tie, half expecting steam to come rushing from under his collar during his not so covert double-take. He’s taken aback by Yuuri’s lack of glasses, which are usually a prominent addition in his online photos, and the all black ensemble that’s the sweeping night against the pleasant daylight of his smile.

Yuuri is now stationed on the West Coast since he recently started consulting with Google’s coveted DoubleClick team and soon, their respective groups will be working together on various projects. Virtually, most of the times, but there were conferences, client engagements and the like to look forward to. Victor didn’t expect such an unexpected sneak peek of the man who he’s admired from a distance (and by admired, he means lay in his bath-bombed bathtub and treat every one of Yuuri’s published pieces like a bestselling novel). He perks as Yuuri walks to the bar to greet his colleagues, attention magnetized to Yuuri’s smooth strides and the taut fit of his-

Victor blinks away _those_ stray thoughts, distracts himself with a long swallow of his wine, and tries not to inadvertently dash over to Yuuri like some swooning fanboy.

He’s saved from further consideration of his approach by a fellow executive who asks if he’s ever been introduced to Yuuri. Victor gives an artless “No, I haven’t had the pleasure” as he’s led over to Yuuri’s group and a few others who gravitated to the expanding discussion on connected spaces. Formalities are dispensed, names and companies are reciprocated, and Victor reins in his excitement when he’s finally able to shake Yuuri’s ( _soft_ ) hand. There’s either a lingering second of them facing each other after the simultaneous “It’s good to meet you” or Victor is projecting his silly dreams onto the moment.

As conversation resumes, Victor takes the chance to study Yuuri - the little quirk of playing with his cuff link, the way he listens to others without interrupting, the handsome slope of his eyebrows, how his eyes sheen bonfire red at the whim of the chandelier. He’s _really_ stunning (much like the articles he pens) if somewhat... _hmm_. Something about the way Yuuri holds himself makes Victor’s skin prickle with anticipation; a sleeping dragon guarding fire in its underbelly. Victor clears his throat, acknowledges its sudden dryness and downs the remainder of his wine in what he can only hope is a casual gesture of publicly justifiable thirst.

“So, Victor, what’s your agenda for the rest of the year? Or are the NDA’s still keeping you quiet?”

Victor makes the zipping motion across his lips and everyone laughs appreciatively. Yuuri catches his eye and his smile is so genuine and spirited that Victor’s cognition goes into a fit of hiccups; he’s more than grateful when the executive directs his next question to Yuuri instead.

“What about you, Yuuri? Your last column caused quite a stir.”

“Good,” Yuuri says, “There are a lot of things we need to be discussing as marketers. Change is one of them. And not the sporadic, short-term kind that looks good on a quarterly report.”

 _Sharpshooter._ Yuuri’s confidence is a fare to be savored; as for the pragmatism billowing under it, Victor is _thrilled_ . Yuuri knows exactly the executive he’s dealing with and he doesn’t seem to be in a mood to bait the poor bastard. _Fearless. Just like his writing._

“The transition from old to new will always be a source of contention for companies, especially those operating under the guise of change being the big bad wolf in sheep’s clothing. And I understand that, because transparency is a factor that we still can’t provide one hundred percent assurity on. But we can’t evolve in a silo either. There needs to be a greater stock of affirmation from marketers in making moves that reflect an understanding of the market and the trust that’s there now. Programmatic is another channel, a powerful one, and viewing it as a fad brings us all back to square one, the same square that companies have died in because of complacency.”

“That’s a lovely but naive sentiment, Yuuri. Somewhat textbook, don’t you agree?”

That’s a gunshot in the dark and everyone knows it; if anyone cared to observe him, they would notice the hairline crack climbing the length of Victor’s empty glass. It would’ve definitely given way under the increasing pressure of his hand if Yuuri didn’t suddenly reverse his agitation with a succinct smile that is nothing like the one he offered Victor moments ago. It draws out the crimson in his eyes and the flare of him spells all manner of nerve against such disingenuity.

“You can speak with my Fortune 500 clients about hypotheticals, if you want.”

_Ha!_

Victor does his best not to choke on the laugh pin-balling inside his throat. Oh, Yuuri is fucking delightful. He didn’t speak with an ounce of malice but everyone, not just the blundering executive, looks properly chastened. Victor has to wonder what Yuuri would say in private to a lover. Under the spell of those eyes and that voice, Victor would let him say (and do) whatever the fuck he wanted.

They’re all separated after that exchange; Yuuri is crowded to one side of the room and Victor begins his trek to the exit. He glances at Yuuri on his way out and thinks, with an unusual tick of restlessness, that the next time he sees him will be the longest wait of his life.

 

* * *

**Present**

“Except it wasn’t really that long,” Victor says, “I saw you the next morning in the ice-cream parlor.”

“Yes!” Yuuri perks beautifully and it almost makes Victor forget that there’s more to this than the memory of vanilla soft serve dotting Yuuri’s lips, “I didn’t ask then but were you having ice-cream for breakfast?”

Victor smiles, “Guilty. You?”

“Yeah. I do that more often than I should,” Yuuri’s smile is an airy doodle across his features and it reminds Victor vividly of the night they met, “You bought the rocky road, right? You said it was nice to have something with more bumps than a flight.”

“Oh _fuck._ Of all the sentences- what was I even trying to say?” Victor bemoans because _of course_ Yuuri remembers that verbal mishap. Yuuri immediately shakes his head, hair tousling with the adamance of it.

“I knew you were talking about turbulence,” Yuuri says kindly; there isn’t even a tinge of irony there, and Victor’s heart thrums itself into into a gooey mess. It’s almost like Yuuri _knows_ \- the butterflies, the stage fright, the feeling of being rattled about thirty-thousand feet in the air.

“You’re not the only one, Victor.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not the only one who’s unsure sometimes,” Yuuri sighs, scrapes his nail against the small patch of varnish lifting off the table, “Saying things and being convinced that it’s the worse sentence you’ve ever put together in your life. I...I liked what you said about the ice-cream then. And now...well...”

 _Oh God. OhGodohGodohGod, he gets it. Fuckfuckfuck. Maybe this is a bad idea. No this_ is _a bad idea! I'm being stupid. He didn't mean anything by Adweek. Where’s the fucking time-turner when you need it?!_

 _“_ Yuuri, I-”

Yuuri raises a hand, smiles this sweet thing that Victor hopes he doesn’t lose at the end of this, “Don’t do that. That look you gave me when I brought up the panel, that’s not something I can just unsee. I want to know what I did, Victor. Please continue.”

 

* * *

**St. Lucia**

**June 2016**

Victor’s day is five steps ahead of him. His week, for that matter, holds the same exhausting attribute. He’s been through three airports, has lost track of the number of hours he’s lost to layovers and delayed luggage claims; all the while having, at minimum, four different conversations on projects across multiple industries in various languages, every one of them operating at vastly distinct levels of...of... _fuck_. Yes. Fuck. That’s his word of choice to sum things up.

God, he’s tired.

It’ll be worth it, though. As long and tedious as the past few months have proven, they’ve been productive and prosperous as well. He’s finished old projects, acquired new ones, started developing alternative methodologies that he’s on schedule to have ready for Adweek.

And his current scenery does make up for a significant percentage of his stress. There’s something eternally soothing about a perpetual tropical breeze accompanied by a beastly cold, locally brewed beer. It’s a sanctuary of sorts and one of the few places Victor doesn’t mind substituting his usual wine consumption. The telecom catered for a large group of partners and consultants, part of a quarterly meetup; they’re housed under two large tents on the sprawling beach, a more casual tone that sees them out of business formal attire and bare-footed in the white sand.

The atmosphere balances Victor’s fatigue. He wouldn’t have skipped this for anything. There are calls he needs to make and documents that require his attention but hearing waves breaking over the shore and seeing the sun shine over sprawling azure is enough to fracture his irritation; it’s certainly more palatable than the city grids he’s navigated through over the last few months.

And, needless to say, there’s Yuuri.

Okay, so maybe Victor is taken with _Yuuri_ more than anything else in his vicinity. No matter his workload, the opportunity to add new pieces of Yuuri Katsuki to his internal scrapbook is not something he would ever willingly refuse. And this piece is the best thus far.

Yuuri’s hair is wind blown, flowing over his eyes and ears every so often when the breeze decides to play catch with it. He pushes it out of the way, bringing the camera to his eye as he frames shots and studies the viewfinder, stepping lightly and posing with flourishes reminiscent of a dancer. He's trim but built, skin curving around muscle, his short sleeved shirt providing the best view of his toned arms. His pants are rolled to his ankles and Victor has been staring for much too long at his feet, his own toes curling helplessly into the hot sand. Yuuri laughs with his nearby colleagues, strolls with them and takes pictures along the way.  

_He’s as beautiful as the day I met him. God help me._

Victor quashes his runaway gaze, looks quickly from Yuuri to his phone; he’s typing nonsense into a memo in an effort not to give himself away. After a respectable amount of time (one minute, forty-three seconds) he peeks up and sees Yuuri far along the beach talking on his own phone, smile lighthearted and entertained.

An irrational edge of jealousy juts into Victor’s gut; what he wouldn’t give to be the one making Yuuri laugh, to tuck his flyaway hair behind his ear, to talk with him without fear - about the ocean, advertising, gibberish, _anything_. This shouldn’t be so hard, damnit! Then again, he can’t guarantee that it won’t be a repeat of the earlier coconut bumble. Victor downs his beer and swallows a pitiful whine alongside it, a man trapped in the desert of his own idiocy.

Yuuri was helping pass out freshly chopped coconuts to the crowd, a crisp treat that was just right for the sweltering tropics. Victor accepted his with a cheerful smile and a not-too-squeaky “Thank you, Yuuri”. Then, as he straightened the straw and took a long sip, the unexpected happened - Yuuri went beyond his “You’re welcome” and talked. To _him._

“Careful, Victor, they’re still a little bit sticky.”

Thank God for the blazing sun because otherwise, his flaming cheeks would have no excuse. Victor cradled the fruit, nodded gratefully, and regrettably spoke.

“Thanks for the heads up. They, uh, look like they came from a great bunch.”

Yuuri chuckled but his attention was stolen by someone holding a clipboard and Yuuri’s features coalesced keenly. Victor made his escape two tents over to contemplate _why_ his brain acted like it was tossed around like the volleyball being pitched over a net further down the beach; he’s been there ever since, mouth clicked shut outside of work-related discourse.

He’ll get it right. One day. Maybe. _God_ . _Fuck_. Victor steals another few looks at Yuuri, brilliant in the sunlight as he draws absent shapes into the sand near the surf with his toes. It simultaneously heals and hinders him. Phantom hands dip into his chest and wrangle with his poor heart; the altercation only intensifies when Yuuri steps up to his tent, with that gorgeous smile that could part the sea, and raises his camera in greeting.

“Do you all mind indulging me? It’s for my blog.”

Everyone voices their approval, gathering together, good-natured and casual in granting Yuuri’s request; Victor doesn’t move because he _can’t_ and lets them all arrange themselves around him. Yuuri takes a few steps back and squats, angling the camera up; the breeze flutters around his unbuttoned shirt top and silky hair; Victor smiles brilliantly because of it. He’s a pebble skipping over water, finally sinking when Yuuri looks his way and says “Thank you”, sunkissed and glowing.

Back at the hotel that afternoon, Victor crawls under the blankets, buries his face in a pillow, takes the cotton between his teeth and himself in hand, and comes so hard he almost blacks out, the softest, wettest “Yuuri” on his lips.

 

* * *

**New York**

**July 2016**

 

_From: Yuuri Katsuki_

_To: Victor Nikiforov et al_

 

 _It’s great to (virtually) meet everyone! See link to my Sharepoint_ _here_ _. All documentation is already housed in their relevant folders and specific permissions granted to each team. If you have any questions, feel free to reach out to me._

 

“Victor!” Mila flies into his arms with an elevated squeal and Victor only just manages to save his phone as his back ripples with audible cracks from her relentless squeezing. Her fiery red hair and clean-swept undercut are smushed against his cheek and he goes cross-eyed with the view, a molten exhibition that matches her crackling personality to a fault.  

“As lively as ever,” Victor’s laughs and hugs back tightly, “How was your flight?”

“Bullshit, as usual. I got the middle seat even though I specifically remember booking an aisle. Almost had to fight the guy next to me for the armrest.”

“Why do all your stories begin with the possibility of getting kicked out of somewhere?”

Mila grins, “Everyone has a big reputation, right? C’mon, I’ve been looking forward to these two days off and I’m starving! Let’s go!”

They Lyft back to his apartment, deep in chatter and gossip that have them roaring with laughter for the hour they spend cruising to Midtown. It’s been a few months since they were in the same place, and the giggles and eye-rolls are much more poignant here than over video.

Mila is fresh into a relationship with the intrepid journalist, Sara, and her words sparkle as they filter through the rose-tinted lens of a new adventure. Victor listens with a wide smile; of all the people Mila has been interested in over the years, Sara brings out Mila’s exuberance in a way Victor is all too understanding of.

“She’s incredible, Victor!” Mila gushes, leaning on him as he swipes through her phone and the dozens of pictures of the newly minted couple, “I really wanted you to meet her but she got pulled into a huge story at the last minute and had to cancel her flight.”

“There’ll be time after Adweek,” Victor says, “which is perfect timing because we can introduce her to all our end-of-year traditions.”

“Yes! She’s the go-to authority on Cards Against Humanity, so she’ll fit right in,” Mila nudges Victor, and he looks up from the phone to her playful smirk, “What about you? What were you smiling at so lovingly before I jumped you at the airport?”

Victor blushes, entirely unprovoked and an unsolicited invite for Mila to mercilessly tease him later, “The email? It was nothing. Just, um, some new project briefs from...Yuuri.”

“I heard ‘nothing’, ‘briefs’ and ‘Yuuri’. I can think of a few sentences that are _way_ more interesting than yours.”

Victor groans.

“Wait...you didn’t talk to him when you were in Saint Lucia, did you?!” Mila glares craters into the lies he knows he can’t get past her, “So that’s why you’ve been so silent on that front!”

His groaning worsens, so much so that their driver asks if they need to stop somewhere to take care of his stomach ache.

“Oh, he’s fine. It’s an ongoing case of stupidity and not physical pain.”

Victor sighs, “Sure. Just go for the jugular.”

“One, you’re well aware that that’s the only way to get shit done in my advertising agency and two,” Mila pokes at him, “Victor Nikiforov, I cannot believe you passed up yet another chance to talk to Yuuri!”

Victor braces against her assault, a few muted screeches emerging when she starts aiming for the ticklish parts, “Maybe I can be single forever. Just me and Makkachin. I’ll be the opposite of a cat lady.”

Mila frowns, “Today’s top story is a melancholy tale of a dog who wishes he could make the _101 Dalmatians_ meet cute a reality. Unfortunately, her master is a jackass and wants to be disowned.”

“Mila, what am I supposed to do when he’s so fucking beautiful? And intelligent? And, holy shit, he’s so organized, his Sharepoint is a dream-”

She levels an exasperated scowl at him, “Am I missing something here? Or are you seriously trying to be the biggest loser in this conversation?”

“I swear, I have a good explanation for Saint Lucia,” Victor rapidly nods as Mila crosses her arms and huffs, “I was going to talk to him. I had the perfect ice breaker and everything. It was foolproof.”

“Apparently not.”

“Will you just listen, geez…”

Victor recounts how, after the company’s small conference on the final day, he walked into the hotel bathroom to gather his courage; it also worked as a diversion that allowed him to extricate himself from a conversation that had him stuck much too far away from Yuuri. He splashed some water on his face, reminded himself that he did, in fact, know quite a few words that would make for lively banter and took a deep breath as he dried his hands.

There was no reason to appraise the sniffling _hic_ coming from the stall; he’d heard it when he came in but didn’t give much notice to the man on the phone. His words were slurred and Victor knew he was probably fluctuating between crying and drunkenly mourning. It was on Victor’s way out of the bathroom that he discovered what had the guy all worked up; he stood with a hand on the door, rooted in shock at the mention of Yuuri’s name.

“Asked Yuuri Katsuki out. Yes, I did. _Ididgoddamnit._ And he said, man, he said _nooooo_ . And I wanna be sad but he was _sooooo_ nice ‘bout it?”

The next few, exaggerated sentences all came together to lay a hefty slap across Victor’s resolve.

What if Yuuri had a rule about professional gatherings? What if he was already spoken for? What if he wasn’t interested in dating or anything of the like? What if, what if, _what if_.

“So, I panicked.”

“Uh huh,” Mila says, “And what if he said yes to _you_? You’ve read every single thing of his and the ones I’ve seen are heavily influenced by your work. He admires you-”

“Yuuri doesn’t _admire-_ ”

“Victor, the more you talk, the more you confirm how much of a dumbass you are.”

“I got cold feet,” Victor mopes, “Not everyone can be as nonchalant as you, you know.”

“That’s a state of _mind_ , Victor, not a state of _heart_. You really think I wasn’t a nervous wreck before I asked Sara out? I had eight shots of tequila and half a bag of double stuffed Oreos before I did it.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Mila shrugs, “I concur but it got the job done. You need to find your alcohol-cookie equivalent because we’re past embarrassing and onto pity at this point.”

Victor ruffles his hair uselessly, thinking on all the times Mila is probably referring to. As of now, his recent flounder in Seattle tops her list - a fairly large ensemble of them walked out of the conference center and Yuuri asked if anyone wanted to share a ride with him back to the hotel. Victor’s hand shot up and he announced he was going to take a walk and he’d see everyone later. He disappeared into the rain, ruined his suit, and lost the bet with his pride.

“I know I’m being ridiculous but...” Victor pulls out his phone and shows her the folder he has specifically for Yuuri’s emails, “He’s soft but firm and downright harsh when he needs to be. There’s this look he gets when someone is talking shit about things he’s passionate about or when he knows how badly he’s being underestimated. He has the brightest spark, Mila. Anyone who wants a foothold in this career would kill to have Yuuri Katsuki in their network. There’s nothing but amazing things ahead for him and he can have anything he wants. Anything...and anyone.”

And there it is. Victor sinks into the seat, mulling over his words; the reasoning behind his madness, the possible rejection that breeds hesitance.

Mila smiles, beckons him for a hug and he goes willingly, “Remember when we worked on Sony’s portfolio all those years ago? What did we used to say during crunch?”

“‘If you’re afraid of falling, then don’t look down’,” Victor recites.

“Exactly. Yuuri is special to you and I know that makes the idea of rejection even more scary. But, for someone who loathes excuses, you’re really dragging around an encyclopedia of them lately.”

Victor chuckles thoughtfully as they part, “Don’t look down, huh? That's horrible advice for this situation.”

“How so?”

“Well,” he picks at his cuticles, flush voyaging down his neck, “What do I do if I've already fallen?”

Mila taps her fingers together, mouth splitting into a wide grin, “He’ll be at Adweek too, right?”

 

* * *

**Advertising Week, New York**

**September 2016**

Victor clutches at his folder and readjusts his glasses, scuttling to the last seat in the back row that is more or less obscure in the throng of people settling in for the panel. He glances at his reflection in his phone screen and drags a foot over the flooring as though his nerves will peel off the sole and scatter into the crowd. He never wears his hair swept back but for every one of Yuuri’s panels he’s done it, just in case his strength failed him (which it had all week). It’s not much of a disguise as an advertisement of his forehead and Victor pockets his phone with an inaudible “Fuck”.

Today has to be different; it’s Yuuri’s last panel and Victor has no clue what his whereabouts will be tomorrow. He has to make this count.

_If you’re afraid of falling, then don’t look down._

The advice feels like winding up a window after the wind has buffeted his hair; that moment when things settle and he doesn't have to shield his eyes from the prickling force of his bangs. There are a hundred different sounds around him, languages abound, argot aplenty, but Victor holds Mila’s reminder close and filters through the myriad distractions to hone in on his goal.

The panel is introduced and Victor livens, smiling throughout as they begin the discussion. Yuuri is extraordinary, has been all week; things always seem clearer and a little less daunting when Yuuri explains it. Victor scribbles a few pages of notes, thinks about new angles based on Yuuri’s unorthodox thought process. It’s yet another demonstration of Yuuri’s thought-leadership, snippets of what Victor knows will be provocative columns. He puts shaded asterisks next to the most compelling conversation starters because large portions of his list are usurped by silly poetic turns about Yuuri’s presentation style and his melodic voice.

The question-and-answer portion of the panel wraps up and Victor’s stomach is layered in the coins of all the wishes he's currently making that this goes well.

_Don’t look down. Don’t look down._

He works his way through the audience, slowly getting closer to where Yuuri is speaking with a vaguely familiar executive. His back is to Victor, glasses off and gripped in his right hand; Victor can’t see Yuuri’s face but the way his shoulders are thrown back cites imminent danger. Victor pauses in one of the rows and examines the tense exchange; whatever they’re talking about, it’s clear that this executive doesn’t know how to take a hint.

It takes a few minutes for the executive to leave; by then, Victor is massaging a couple sheets of crumpled paper that he pulled from his folder, expression heavy with concern. Yuuri seems to be at a standstill, slump oozing over his posture as he brings a hand to his face, the other crushing against his lens.

Victor steps forward; above all else, he needs to know that Yuuri is okay.

“Yuuri, hi-”

“No.”

Victor freezes.

“S-Sorry, I-”

“I said _no_.” And he walks away with hardly a glimpse back, bumping into two chairs as he hastens to the exit and slips out.

Victor regards the empty space now in front of him. He’s as wrinkled as the paper in his hand, echoes of creases too many. It’s loud; there are officials conducting mic checks, the background music is still up, and the hubbub is substantially uninterrupted. But all Victor hears is the harsh repeat of Yuuri’s swift dismissal.

 

* * *

**Present**

“Maybe harsh is the wrong word. It was kind of...sudden? It actually feels stupid to say it out loud,” Victor’s laugh is caked in rust, “I know how stressful Adweek can be and how draining those panels are. I'm getting a migraine just thinking about them.”

Yuuri stares, alarmingly inscrutable. Victor thinks he's just about lost his appetite for the next year.

“Let’s...let’s forget we ever talked about this, okay? I’m really sorry I put you in this position and I didn’t mean to offend you or make you think that you’re somehow obligated to me...”

Yuuri’s face scrunches, countless emotions flitting across it, the most pertinent of them being doubt. Victor resigns himself, prepares for the bite; there’s no going back and he feels like a fool for ever burdening Yuuri with this this. No wonder he looks so uncertain; why would Yuuri ever feel anything but contempt for him after that story? Yuuri was always the magician holding the saw and Victor waits to be sliced, no longer privy to the magic-

“Oh my God,” Yuuri whispers suddenly, dubious and fractured, “Victor, that was you?!”

“Uh,” the record scratches and Victor hesitates, “Yes. It was. What-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake- Victor, I can barely see a foot in front of me without my glasses. I had no idea it was you. It was bright, the noise didn’t help and I was exhausted and anxious, especially after the executive started pressuring me into taking another look at his company. They’ve been trying to poach me for years and they’re fucking aggressive about it. Not to mention that he’s a complete dick but that’s not the point,” Yuuri takes a deep breath, “I was upset and at my threshold and I didn’t know who the person behind me was. I didn't even recognize your voice-"

Yuuri falters, hides his face in his palms and curses in at least four languages (one of which sounds suspiciously like Russian). Victor blinks.

_Well, fuck._

“You...you didn’t know?”  
  
“No,” Yuuri says, looking up with a sigh; he watches Victor cautiously, eyes widening, “Oh. You thought I knew it was you…”  
  
“I...yes. I thought…” Victor stumbles, Yuuri’s perception catching him off guard. Yuuri doesn’t leave him to flounder, surging on with that candor of his that feeds much needed warmth into Victor’s heart.

“Victor, no matter what, I shouldn’t have stormed off the way that I did. I regretted it when I got back to the hotel. I swear, I'm not an asshole. But, if I knew it was you...Victor, if I knew you were there waiting for me, I would never walk away.”

 _Wow_.

“You didn't know,” Victor has to say it again, has to let the words bubble over his tongue, has to make sure it won’t abruptly turn sour.

Yuuri exhales, presses a hand briefly to his chest, slides it over his heart, “I didn't know.”

Victor tilts his head back with an easier laugh, “Now do you understand why I think you’re intimidating?”

Yuuri snorts as their host brings them their lunch; she wears an amused grin and her “Enjoy” is chipper enough that both men blush. They’re chewing distractedly, glancing at each other every few of seconds in their curious silence. It’s been a day of surprises and Victor doesn’t know how much more he can handle before he combusts; _what now? Are we really okay? Do I need to say anything else-_

Yuuri’s fork hits his plate with a hard clank and Victor jumps.

“The fucking balloons!” he hisses, “You were behind them!”

Victor swallows his grilled chicken and the instinctive laugh that would’ve left him gasping, “So you did hear me.”

“It sounded like you but I was so annoyed with myself that I didn’t talk to you after your panel that I- I…” Yuuri grits his teeth, “Victor, I am so sorry about all of this. I can’t believe I did that to you. Honestly, why did you say yes to me today? Why all the drinks?”

“I…” Victor pushes his mashed potatoes into a new heap, “I like seeing you smile.”

“I hurt you. _Twice_.”

“You didn't know-”

“That is not an excuse,” Yuuri says vehemently.

“If it makes you feel better, this makes up for it,” Victor gestures around them but still, Yuuri looks unconvinced. He smiles, fishes out his phone and finds the Google doc of cross references to his and Yuuri’s work.

“And these do too,” Victor shows him the list, “I've read more than just your briefs, Yuuri. And I think it’s safe to assume you’ve done some reading of your own.”

The pink highlights in Yuuri’s cheekbones grow darker as he scans Victor’s phone. When he’s finished, he looks thoroughly gobsmacked.

“I didn't plan the drinks. I was terrified to talk to you again and it kind of just happened. The hotel concierge told me you seemed so touched when you got the bottle of scotch. There was no stopping myself after that.”

“Victor…”

“So, which part did you like best?”

“What?”

Victor takes his phone and points quarter way down the list, “You quoted me from an interview I did with Apple a couple years ago. I liked that one too.”

“Oh. Well. You talked about Makkachin and you always smile for real when you do.”

 _For real, huh?_ “The same way you smile when you talk about Blade Runner as an analogy for the future?”

Yuuri tips his head to the side; maybe it's the weight of his understanding or maybe he’s aware of how well the position frames his soft features and beautiful smile. Both are good in Victor’s eyes.

“I watched it a while back. Actually, I've watched all your sci-fi recommendations,” _Be cool, Victor, be cool!_ “Would you like to talk about them, and this,” he wiggles his phone, “and...and _everything_ over dinner?”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

Victor’s flashes a brilliant smile, “If you want.”

But Yuuri isn't fooled. He pushes his plate to the side and leans forward, midriff pressed into the table; the look he gives is tender, enchanted, _electric_ and Victor can hardly understand it. It's not only that Yuuri sees through him; no, he sees _him_ and refuses to leave room for more misunderstandings. 

“What do _you_ want, Victor?”

_You._

“I'm asking you on a date,” Victor rephrases, expression hued to something less gold-plated, “If you're free, I'd love to spend more time with you.”

“I’d love that too,” Yuuri beams, “and I know you said dinner but would you like to go somewhere with me now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos and love welcome <3
> 
> [Follow me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/AlexWSpark)   
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> 


	5. When You Are Close to Me...(Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dorks come to terms with their impending date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and ohmygosh, it's been a minute XD I've been stupid busy, but God knows I've been loving off on this fic in my spare time. I'll try not to keep you guys waiting for Part 2 for too long and it will definitely have some length to it <3
> 
> Thanks so much for all the support, kudos and lovely comments thus far, you all are the best!
> 
> All the cake to [Ajwolf](https://ajwolf84.tumblr.com/) for the beta and for getting me out of my own head :)

Yuuri bolts down the hallway to his hotel room, blazer and tie fluttering in his grasp as his speed dial finally connects, “It was Victor!”

Phichit hums on the other end, obviously entertained by Yuuri’s outburst, one that he made before Phichit could properly greet him, “Hello to you too. So, what are we talking about here? Who was Victor? Do I need to call the local fire department?”

“Call the _what?_ ” Yuuri swipes the key-card on the wrong side, and curses.

Phichit cackles, “To cool you off from what I’m assuming was an eventful meeting?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Yuuri tumbles through the door, kicking it shut behind him; he immediately starts spewing clothes and various intonations of “Fuck” in between static breaths, “Victor, he was- he’s-” It’s a small firework of worsted wool and expensive silk, all awkwardly and carelessly discarded as Yuuri struggles to keep a firm grip on his phone.

“Yuuri?” Concern catches up to Phichit’s teasing, “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“The- the guy at Adweek, the one I-” Yuuri dumps the phone on his bed and shrugs hastily out of his shirt, throwing it over his shoulder as he squints apprehensively at his suitcase; _what the fuck am I going to wear?_ He switches the call to speaker, scampers over his words as he tries to give Phichit due attention. But there’s no expeditious path in regaling Phichit of this unimaginable story or the shooting star that is Victor’s account of the whole thing. To think that, all this time, all these _years_ , Victor was trying to meet him, somewhere, _anywhere..._

“Sorry, Phi! I’m fine, I’m better than fine, actually…” Yuuri tugs at his undershirt, takes a steadying breath, “Remember last year during Adweek? I called you from the hotel because I was on the verge of an anxiety attack and I told you what happened after my final panel? Victor was the guy who tried to approach me afterwards!”

“What?” Phichit chokes, “Waitwait _wait,_ how do you know that?”

“I know because he told me.”

“WHAT?”

“I just had lunch with him and he told me...Jesus, Phichit, he told me everything.”

“Lunch? _Everything?_ Yuuri-”

“You and Chris were right,” Yuuri rushes to give an overview of his morning as Phichit sputters nonsense on the line. The more he explains, the more it all feels too good to be true, precious hours plucked straight from some seasonal romcom. But his lunch with Victor wasn’t a scripted affair, no film crew or production team prepping them from the sidelines like they do at the conferences. It was simply two men, two very ridiculous and honest men at that, finally giving each other and themselves a much deserved break.  

And, _God_ , the look on Victor’s face when Yuuri asked him if they could spend some time together. Victor’s smile grew and grew as though he’d been walking through a daydream only to realize it wasn’t all in his head anymore. His features were as breezy as those damn balloons from the year before; but there were no obstacles there, no colorful deflections, only Victor’s beautiful earnestness and a healthy burst of starlight in his eyes.

From afar, Victor’s dazzle seemed so blinding, daunting, unattainable even. Up close, Yuuri realized just how mistaken he was to even think those things about him.

“So, yeah, that happened and now we have a date in half an hour and I-”

“ _WHAT?!”_ Yuuri winces at Phichit’s volume which has gone from emphatic surprise to incredulous banshee, “A date?! Yuuri! Why didn’t you lead with that piece of information?!”

“I don’t know!” Yuuri slaps a hand over his face, squiggled smile imprinting into his palm, “Everything happened really fast, okay, and if you haven’t noticed, I’m _this_ close to freaking out!”

He listens to Phichit’s apparent running and the brisk _whoosh!_ of a sliding door, “Chris, you’re not going to believe this! _Yes_ , this is worth getting out of the tub for, sweetheart!”

 

* * *

“What do you mean if where we're going has a tub?” Victor’s would-be smirk loses its sizzle about halfway into the promising thought, lips squirming with the lewd pull and courteous push. _God, I’m hopeless_ , Victor thinks and it’s not even disparaging, not since he said yes to Yuuri’s invitation. Beautiful, sincere Yuuri who grappled with himself at that panel; while Victor stood on a mountain, ready to wax poetic to the man, Yuuri was dangling off the side, hurting in his fight or flight response to that prick of an executive. If only he knew then...

“You said you're going on a date,” Mila cheers over the video call, “So, I'm assuming there's a tub.”

“Maybe we’re projecting,” Sara muses and the two women share an adorable giggle that Victor would happily bask in if he wasn’t on his knees in front of his suitcase, rummaging and despairing and poking the compartments like a portal to a boutique will burst open and whisk him away. A pair of his more stylish jeans, the _3x1_ bespoke that he splurged on for St. Lucia but never did manage to wear, comes into view when he tosses aside a few things. _Perfect, time to shower!_ He pulls them out and jumps to his feet, shucking off his work pants with no coordination whatsoever; he inevitably trips and lands in a heap of clothes on his bed, squeaking more resoundingly than the mattress.

“Are you okay?!” Mila and Sara crowd into the video, flinching on his behalf.

“I’m...I’m…” Victor lays back, pants stuck at his knees, heart lodged in his foot, “I don’t know what to call this. The way he looks at me...no one has ever looked at me like that before.”

“What are you talking about? Makka looks at you like that all the time,” Mila teases; Victor balances on his forearm and pops a middle finger, much to his friends’ amusement. Sara stifles a fit of laughter into her fist, features softening thoughtfully when Victor pouts pitifully at her.

“You need to stop worrying so much, Victor. Your day might not have gone the way you planned, aside from Yuuri figuring out that you were behind the coffee, but it was a thousand times better, right?” Sara smiles encouragingly, “After that lunch you both had and what he said to you, I'd bet my next exclusive that this is definitely not a one time thing.”

“She’s right,” Mila says, “I'll admit, I thought he was caught up in his ego when you told me what happened between you two at Adweek. Now, I can’t imagine how stressful that whole experience was for him.”

“Me either,” Victor battles with his pants, wiggles just right in his lounged state for it to slide off his calves and pool at his feet, “That bastard who harassed him is on my permanent shit list.”

Mila winks at him, “Look at you getting all protective. Now all you have to do is channel that confidence and you’ll forget all about your nerves.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive feelings, Mila! And my hotel room doesn’t stock tequila and oreos so, yeah, I’m nervous.”

That was a blatant and bottomless understatement. Victor replays Yuuri’s explanation, has replayed it since the restaurant and the drive back to their respective hotels. Yuuri was staying in the middle of the city at the Hilton, while Victor was lodged along the city’s waterfront, at the Hyatt. The journey to the former held a tangible spark, rich and vivid laughter that was unintentionally and pleasantly usurped as Victor guided the car to the portico.

“You’ll need to pack a change of clothes for this surprise. Gym gear should be okay,” Yuuri said, and Victor didn't know what was more telling - his bright and playful smile or deep crimson ears.  

“This is getting more intriguing by the minute,” Victor smirked, “Any other clues?”

“It's not what you think.”

“And what if I wish it was?” Victor saw the way Yuuri paused on the door handle, how his head tilted to the side while the plump of his dimple grew as he digested what was supposed to be Victor’s inside voice. When Yuuri responded, voice barely above a whisper, Victor felt a shiver avalanche down his spine, a delightful mess of blissful want piling at the base.  

“Then we’re both in big trouble.”

Between parking his car at the Hyatt, sprinting to the elevator, cursing to his friends about the slow ride to his floor, and the echo of _big trouble_ to distract him in all the wrong ways, Victor was a ball of twine unravelling under a clever paw. He looks at his friends now - Mila with her scoff of a pout against his nerves and Sara tapping urgently at her watch - and smiles at their blunt yet heartening support. They’re right; no one has ever bared themselves to him the way Yuuri did today. For all their missed opportunities and, well, _outright stupidity,_ he didn't hesitate to set the record straight.

Today isn't a day to be wasted. He's nervous, yes, but he's not leaving the island without _something -_ Yuuri’s number, more of his smiles, a handshake...a touch. _Any_ touch. Whatever Yuuri has in store for them, trouble or otherwise, Victor is ready.

 

* * *

“‘Both in big trouble’?” Chris whoops and toasts with Phichit, wine glasses clinking in minor delay over the video call, “Yuuri Katsuki, I am _so_ proud of you. This is a thousand times better than the wine trolley you gifted the salon, chéri!”

“We knew you had it in you,” Phichit takes a long sip and flashes him a dirty grin, “All you needed was the right catalyst.”

“It’s not like I was trying to flirt with him,” Yuuri counters, tugging another t-shirt over his still damp head. It’s the sixth one he tried on at his friends’ request; he didn’t even realized he packed so much, “And he started it. I was just being honest with...him…”

Phichit and Chris fix him with a joint look of formidable reiteration of their conversation earlier that morning; the matching frowns, raging gales against Yuuri’s paper-thin nonchalance, has him caving in record time.

“Okay, fine!” A furious blush brings Yuuri’s face to its boiling point, “I was looking for an opening and I really didn’t expect him to flirt with me so casually, so I said what I _wanted_ to say. I nearly bit off my tongue in the elevator but that’s a moot point now. Are you guys happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Chris purrs, “but you’re still in denial if you think ‘casually’ describes anything Mr. Nikiforov says to you.”

Phichit tips his glass in Yuuri’s direction, ”Mmmhmm. I guarantee that you were not the only one thinking about what the both of you could’ve done in Victor’s car,” Phichit plucks the berry from the bottom of his glass and bites into it, eyes drawn to his left in a subtle smirk; Yuuri barks a laugh at the visual sass.

“Why doesn’t this hotel have an in-room mini-bar? You guys are making me thirsty,” Yuuri waves a hand the second Chris opens his mouth, “Don’t. You. Dare.”

“Quick on the draw, chéri! You’re on a roll today,” Chris drains his glass and swipes a bottle from somewhere off camera, “And, for the record, I don’t think Victor is quite ready for drunk you,” Phichit whistles knowingly at that, “At least date him for a year before you kill him.”

“You’re both so embarrassing, I swear to God,” Yuuri laughs, making a slow twirl for his friends while glancing into the nearby mirror, “Does this look okay?” It’s a simple ensemble, soft and comfortable and perfect for maneuvering his growing nerves; an orchid t-shirt emblazoned at the seam with his video game name-tag, a thank you from one of the larger publishers he consulted for, fits over deep navy jeans.

“Oh, you look gorgeous! Miss Swift would be very pleased,” Chris presses play on his playlist right on cue, planting a tickling kiss on Phichit’s jaw as he proceeds to dance around their suite, wine in hand. Phichit giggles, attention returning to Yuuri, along with newly pink cheeks.

“You’re ready, Yuuri and I’m basing that primarily on what you stuffed into your bag when you thought we weren’t looking,” Yuuri clamps a hand over his mouth, buries the yelp in a rugged cough; Phichit’s expression is filled with mirth as he continues, “Deep breaths, okay? Lots of deep breaths and maybe forget what you and your hand were doing in that very room last night while you were thinking about Vic-”

Yuuri stumbles over a stray pant leg and comes precariously close to face-planting the carpet, “PHICHIT, PLEASE!”

 

* * *

“Please, _please_ tell me I look presentable,” Victor checks his reflection in the mirror over his shoulder, hand roving over his backside as he frowns; Yuuri’s ass is definitely nicer than his, if he does say so himself. He feels the blush all the way to his chest at the thought, but he doesn’t have the time to entertain it, not with Sara giving him two energetic thumbs up and Mila checking the local traffic situation on his behalf.

“They’re starting roadworks in your area soon, so you might want to get a move on before the traffic becomes unbearable,” Mila warns, looking up from her phone, “And, presentable is a little harsh don’t you think? You’re absolutely stunning!”

“That polo really brings out your eyes,” Sara brings her hands together, rests her chin on them with a devious little smile, “You guys are going to have a great time making heart-eyes at each other. Among other things.”

Victor can’t even begin to argue with that, not when his entire face is ripe for the picking; he gives himself one last once-over, biting warily into his already well-chewed lip, “I think I have everything. I do, right? Um,” he points to the small duffel on the bed, “I packed some things, like Yuuri asked me to. And I’ve got my wallet, car keys, room key, mints, lip balm-”

“Your unbeatable charm, good looks and stellar ass,” Mila shoos him away, “Stop procrastinating and _go!_ Go have some fun with Yuuri today. You’ve only been dreaming about this since...I don’t know, _the moment you first saw him_.”

Sara raises both arms into the air, “I second and third that! I'm sure whatever Yuuri has planned will be amazing.”

“And remember,” Mila says, deceptively straight-faced, “whatever you all get up to, make sure to use protection!”

Victor’s heartbeat snaps and his knee collides with the edge of the bed, groans palpable as he bends right over and lays his face on the side of the duffel.

“This is no time to be making unintelligible noises, Victor! Off with you! You don’t want to be late, do you?”

 

* * *

Yuuri waits beneath the welcome arches outside of the Hilton, his small paces from side to side the only way to expend the spirited _boom!_ of his hyperactive heart. There’s a bustling crowd coming and going from the hotel that he’s sure wouldn't be willing to endure a rendition of _Cherry Pie_ ; that was the last song Chris serenaded him with before Victor messaged that he was on his way and he sprung into action, grabbing his things and hurrying to the ground floor.

He still can’t believe it, that Victor was the person who tried to talk to him at Adweek. Yuuri sighs, hands tightening around the straps of his backpack; it’s flattering and depressing, the former for obvious reasons and the latter for upsetting Victor all those months ago. He nibbles into his cheek, remembering how he felt after the executive tried to weasel him into conversation. His stance may have seemed assertive, but inside, the pipes burst and the water rushed in and around his resolve. By the end of it, he could make neither heads or tails of the sounds and sights around him; all he knew then was that he needed to get out and breathe.

Of all the moments, all the time they were in each other’s vicinity...

“Fuck,” Yuuri murmurs, not enough under his breath, apparently, because the couple passing shoot him a vaguely chastising glare. He scrunches his face in apology, clamping down on the laugh that’s right on his tongue. _God_. It’s really not the time for self-deprecation. This isn’t another day at the office; there’s no board review or process critiques or Q &As with industry experts. Perfection doesn't belong in this afternoon with Victor and that’s what makes it so special.

There’s dread sludged in him though, a shadow of a voice that says Victor deserves so much better than to have those memories be a part of his life, memories that Yuuri is responsible for. His rationality, however, is having none of that overbearing bullshit; either his heart is the blender or he can chuck the hammering thing into the revolving blades. Yuuri can’t ( _and won't_ ) fuck this up a third time. He’ll start making it up to Victor today; at least, he hopes that the idea he has in mind is something that will get Victor excited. Yuuri dips his head, toying with the bridge of his glasses and the frivolous locks of hair grazing the top of his lenses; Victor said he liked seeing him smile and Yuuri is so ready to return that affection ten-fold.

_You’ve got this, Yuuri! You have nothing to worry...about...holy shit..._

Yuuri blinks up as Victor’s rental comes into view, passenger side window rolling down before he stops in front of Yuuri. He's inconceivable in his azure tee and grey jeans, hair whisked to the side by the lush breeze, and Yuuri has to actively remind himself that it’s one foot in front of the other; they’re on a mild slope and falling over here would not be ideal, not when he can be in that car sitting next to the most beautiful man in the world.

“Hey!” Victor says as Yuuri leans against the open window, “Nice to see you again.”

Yuuri smiles, warmed by the heart-shaped ease of Victor’s greeting, “You too. You look nice.”

“So do you,” Victor pats the seat next to him, blush all the more potent than all the times Yuuri has seen it today, “Are we ready?”

“Actually, if you don’t mind, can you take shotgun?”

Victor raises an eyebrow, but nonetheless, he puts the car into park and hops out, coming around to where Yuuri is indenting the toe of his sneaker into the gravel. There’s something less restrained in how close Victor steps into his space, an eagerness about him that goes beyond their upcoming departure and mystery destination.

“Are you going to give me any more hints about where we’re going?”

“Nope. You just have to take my word for it,” Yuuri shakes his bag off one shoulder, sticking an arm into it and scrabbling around for a few seconds; he presents his tie, the very same one he abandoned in Victor’s trunk what feels like a decade ago, “Also…”

Victor’s back _thumps!_ against the car, and Yuuri is eighty percent sure that that wasn’t a planned pose. Yuuri nods slowly as Victor points to his own eyes, and he hears the hallelujah chorus echo in the distance when Victor’s lips curl with a carefree smirk.

“Put it on for me, Yuuri.”

“Oh, but...wouldn’t it make more sense-”

“Then _you_ can get me in the car.”

Yuuri’s lips part, a zip-line of gooseflesh stretching across his body as Victor’s unreserved gaze pierces him. _"Victor Nikiforov is fucking with me! There is no other explanation!"_ \- that’s what Yuuri shouted to his friends in the bathroom before the executive meeting, before he slowed down long enough to dismantle his consternation and see beyond the murk of his anxiety. And what did he find? What does he see now except unchallenged goodness, and not the misapprehension his doubts seek to conjure.

Victor trusts him, wants this afternoon with him, and there’s no other choice but for Yuuri to do as he’s so endearingly asked. He makes a circular motion with his finger, waits for an ever smiling Victor to turn his back to him and sets the makeshift blindfold gently over his eyes. The azure silk, with its adorable poodle paw print that can only be seen upon very close inspection, is smooth in Yuuri’s hands as he tightens it just so at the back of Victor’s head and ties a short knot.

What a sight they must make, a world apart from the hustle around them. Yuuri holds his breath, looping a neat bow on an afterthought. Victor’s hair is a silken field, and in a brief second of absolute weakness, Yuuri touches his palm to his nose.

_Cherry blossoms._

Yuuri clears his throat, swishes a finger over the curve of the silk, reels in flailing heart, “Is it too tight?”

“Not at all. It feels good,” Victor brings a hand to his face, but he doesn’t reach for the tie; instead, his fingers trails over his lips in an unconscious motion, the same way Yuuri drew the scent of Victor’s shampoo from his hand, “ _Really_ good.”

“Let me get the door…” Yuuri rests a (mostly) steady hand on the small of Victor’s back, opening the car door and directing him gently into the front seat. A hand finds his forearm and Yuuri shoots into space, a fervent silence sweeping through his brain at the unfurling warmth of Victor’s skin.

“Thanks, Yuuri,” and there’s Victor’s mischief again, his contagious playfulness. Yuuri shuts the door, breathes deep like he’s been underwater all his life.  

_Third time’s the charm, right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos and love welcome <3
> 
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	6. When You Are Close to Me...(Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two dorks spend the day together and learn a few, incredibly surprising things <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* Hey, lovely readers! Let me say a HUGE thank you to each and every one of you for supporting this fic, I love you all <3
> 
> Sorry this took a bit. I've had some ups and downs, the latter of which really took it out of me for a while. But worry not, I will finish this fic :) 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and hope you enjoy!
> 
> All the unicorns and kittehs to [Ajwolf](http://ajwolf84.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing!

_Third time’s the charm, right?_

The rumble of the car’s engine climbs deep into Victor’s bones as he goes lax in his seat and toys with the edge of Yuuri’s tie turned blindfold, smile growing more painful by the second. Days from now, he’ll look back on these moments, make a slideshow of it for his heart to swipe through at leisure, but at present, he’s preoccupied with the image of Yuuri holding out his neckwear at the hotel; an unexpected development that is more than enough to fend off any of his residual worry for the afternoon ahead.

He’s seen it before at conferences and during interviews, that irresistible sparkle in Yuuri’s eyes whenever he’s composing some genius marketing answer or other. Victor isn’t the only one who noticed it; he’s heard so many people talk about Yuuri, sharing descriptions like ‘enchanting’ and ‘knockout’ and ‘quite the catch’ in hushed and reverent tones. It’s why the glint in Yuuri’s eyes before things went dark was a dowsing rod for every ounce of Victor’s marvel, intense and promising and solely for _his_ viewing pleasure.  

“If you don’t mind me asking, where did you get your tie?” Victor feels the bow at the back of his head, unable to keep his hands off the exceptionally soft material for more than a few seconds; notes of floral and spice are woven into the fibers and they linger on his fingertips with each impulsive touch. Yuuri’s tie is a luxurious selection, one that makes the sensory deprivation all the more freeing and wonderfully suggestive.

“That one was a gift from my parents,” Yuuri says, “and they refuse to tell me who custom-made it, though I’m a hundred percent sure they went through Chris for advice. For my day-to-day ties, I have a go-to boutique in San Francisco. Do you know Baranovskaya’s?”

“You have excellent taste,” Victor hums, “but I have to raise you Celestino’s.”

Yuuri’s kittenish cadence is unbelievable as he says, “You can raise me whatever you want but I won’t believe it until you’ve demonstrated its quality.”

Victor turns to face Yuuri, just to make sure that he doesn’t miss the heart-shaped assent. “I think ‘big trouble’ might be an understatement, Yuuri.”

Yuuri laughs, sweet and shy; the sound is a lighthouse in a vast sea and Victor wants to listen and be drawn towards it forever. “So, um, this shouldn’t be a long drive. At least that’s what Google tells me.”

“Well, if it’s on the internet, then it must be true. That’s what I tell all of my clients!” Victor smiles at Yuuri’s prolonged snort. “It doesn’t matter to me how long it takes to get to wherever we’re going. Though, I’ll admit, I’m officially lost right now.”

“We literally just pulled off of the Savannah onto...another road,” he can practically hear the way Yuuri smirks. “It’s a fairly linear drive from here. Maybe.”

“You’re such a tease,” Victor sweeps his hand over the tie again, “but I think you’ve made that _very_ clear, haven't you?”

“Uh huh. Like you and your jacket in the garage?”

 _That was for you and only you._ “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Victor’s heartbeat certainly doesn’t support that fib and neither does Yuuri’s giggle. Victor can only imagine the state of his cheeks (and Yuuri’s own, for that matter).

“Yuuri?”

“Yes, Victor?”

Victor pops his seat back, drawing idle patterns along his thigh as he rolls the question over in his mind, thinking back to New York. “Who did you think was sending you the drinks?”

“Hmm,” Yuuri stretches out the syllable, pondering. “Phichit used to say that it’s ‘someone who really likes you’, but honestly, I had no idea how to internalize that. It seemed like a lot of very expensive trouble for someone to go through just for me.”

 _‘Just for me’? Yuuri…_ “I think the only trouble I ran into was sending you the glass of scotch only to watch you say ‘no’ to the bartender because, duh Victor, a responsible person would do that.”

“Well, now that you know my entire Adweek story, you can imagine how on edge I was at the mixer. It didn’t help that the bartender had a smile like the Grinch, so I was a little creeped out when he called me over. But!” Yuuri says quickly when Victor makes a muffled noise of regret, “But, when the sealed bottle was delivered to my room, I was shocked. The person, _you_ , clearly understood your mistake and went out of your way to fix something you didn’t have to, especially given what you went through because of me.”

Yuuri pauses and Victor feels the fine hairs on his neck prickle, eyes falling on him even if he can’t confirm it; Yuuri’s voice is soft when he continues, “I never attached a person to all the gifts, per se, but I did wish, sometimes…”

“For what?”

“...This.”

If Yuuri carries on so candidly with him, Victor foresees himself melting right into the car seat. He’s sure that he’s never come across a more perfect answer in his professional and personal life, and he’s certainly never sat in a car (or _anywhere_ ), sans vision, with a man as beautiful as Yuuri. This is fantasy come to life, magic made real with nothing more than Yuuri’s audaciousness.  

“Me too,” Victor sighs, “I’m really sorry about Adweek, Yuuri.”

“What? Victor, you have absolutely nothing to apologize to me for,” Yuuri says disapprovingly, an ache in the undercurrents that speaks to his guilt. “I was the only one in the wrong that day.”

“That’s not fair. I knew something was off before I approached you. I should’ve given you your space, waited until the mixer, bought you that scotch, and asked you out then and there.”

“For the record, I would've said yes,” and Victor swears he feels something (or someone) brush his hand, but it’s much too fleeting for him to confirm. “I appreciate you being patient with me, it really means a lot. But, just for today at least, can we agree that Adweek was my fault and this is my way of saying I’m sorry?”

Victor makes a lukewarm protest, caught between Yuuri’s obvious charm and not wanting to concede to him; but what has been a fairly straight drive becomes somewhat winding and like a rabbit out of a hat, he jumps from his lounged position with a sudden revelation.

“We’re somewhere on the North Coast!” he grins, bouncing in his seat, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“You’re fairly close,” Yuuri muses, slowing the car as he stifles a laugh, “I’m pulling into the parking lot soon, so you still have to wait. No peeking.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be excited!” Victor presses his nose to the glass even though he can’t see anything. “One more hint? Please?”

“It’s a building.”

“ _Yuuri._ ”

“It’s a big building?”

He huffs, amusedly so, butt doing an uncoordinated wiggle in his seat as Yuuri makes a sharp left turn and brakes, possibly merging into a turnoff if Victor is judging the vehicle’s movements correctly. It’s a short cruise and two turns after that, the latter of which is Yuuri pulling into a parking space.

“We’re here,” Yuuri shuts off the ignition and unlocks his door, “Give me a second.”

Victor sits patiently, uninterested in speeding up this particular moment no matter how much it thickens the suspense of their oh so close destination. Soon, his own door is opened and hands rest over his own. Victor’s breath halves at the overwhelming presence of Yuuri around him; he’s warm, smells ravishing, and feels like sunlight in a snowstorm. Victor holds tights and whispers “Thank you” as he steps out of the car, conscious of just how _good_ it is to touch Yuuri again, to hear him say “No problem” while brushing his knuckles with a delicate thumb. When Yuuri finally slips off the tie (which involves a slow undoing of the knot and fingertips in his hair, fine strokes that feel like a full bodied caress), he’s indeed faced with a big building, but more importantly is the logo plastered high above them in blazing blue and orange.

“Five Islands?!” Victor gives Yuuri a bare few seconds to grab their things from the backseat and click the alarm to life before he links their arms together, and sprints towards to indoor and outdoor amusement park. “You’re amazing, Yuuri! Let’s go!”

 

* * *

A permanent smile stretches across Yuuri’s face as Victor bubbles with excitement, words fizzing and spilling over in an adorable mashup of English and Russian. ‘I love doing things like this!’ and ‘I could hug you!’ are a few of the things Yuuri is able parse in Victor’s native tongue and every bit of his babble floods Yuuri with relief as they sprint to the entrance.

The park is still under development, evidenced by the construction zone cordoned off nearer to the glittering coastline. Yuuri didn’t have time to weigh the con of that with the many leisures already open to the public until after Victor agreed to their date. He comforted himself with the mantra that the recreation is more than enough to take them outside of their corporate norm, and that, since it’s the middle of a work day, they seem to have the place mostly to themselves for the time being.

Victor is certainly on the positive side of things as well, chatting at top speed with Ajay, the guide that befriended them when they stepped inside. They’re pouring over a brochure and double-checking the dress code, oblivious to Yuuri leaving them to it; he walks to the cashier on the opposite side of the entryway so he can collect their wristbands and specially made socks for the in-house trampoline.

“Wait, Yuuri, let me–” Victor looks up and immediately excuses himself, hand disappearing into his bag as he searches for what Yuuri assumes is his wallet. But Yuuri purses his lips, and wags a single finger, serious for all of two seconds before he splits into a brilliant smile again.

“You’re supposed to be letting me apologize, remember?”

“Okay, but dinner’s on me, then,” Victor says briskly. “You have to let me thank you properly, if we’re going about this using your logic.”

“You sound like you’re developing the foundation for one of your case studies,” Yuuri quips, knowing he should’ve saw Victor’s goodwill coming since their conversation in the car. “All work and no play, Victor.”

Victor all but winks at him, evidently enticed by Yuuri’s good natured ribbing, “Trust me, being here with you cancels any concept of work. Play, however…”

Yuuri gives him his share of the entry paraphernalia, witty responses forgotten in favor of allowing Victor’s banter some rein over his heart...and groin. The flush that lights Yuuri’s face is the lure that brings Victor alongside him again; they’re directed to the nearby changing rooms, and Yuuri lets the warmth overtake him as they brush against one another’s shoulder with every synced step.

“I heard the B2B sales team in the office talking about this place earlier this week,” Victor comments when they’re separated by the wooden partitions of their change stalls. “I think they were planning a going-away party for one of the junior managers.”

Yuuri listens to the rustle of clothes next to him and tries his damndest not to stutter. “I saw an advertisement for it in the local newspaper, and thought it looked like a lot of fun. I didn’t think I’d actually make it here on this trip, though.”

“Well, I like your spontaneity,” Victor says, and there’s a muffled ‘oof’ alongside the compliment, a telltale sound that makes Yuuri lean heavily again the barrier, heart weightless and heels bouncing. “Speaking of which, I have an idea, Yuuri.”

“I’m listening,” Yuuri encourages, wondering if Victor knows that his answer is already yes.

“I want to get to know you better. I’ve spent so much time with your work, and it didn’t take long to figure out just how brilliant and...and beautiful you are.” He’s interrupted by Yuuri’s suppressed squeak, and like a well-shaken and uncapped bottle of soda, Yuuri fizzes uncontrollably when Victor chuckles. “But there’s so much more to you than your career. So, for everything we do today, I think it would be interesting if we tell each other one new thing about us that's not generic, and definitely not work related. Thoughts?”

 _‘There’s so much more to you’._ Unlike the cocksure leers Yuuri has dodged in the past, Victor’s request is the genuine silver lining that Yuuri wants to actively chase after. He tickles at the blush high in his cheeks, and hums in approval of the adventure that’s waiting on them both.

“Ditto, to everything you said. And my answer is yes.”

They step outside of their respective stalls, eyes finding each other without delay, smiles complemented and undeniably smitten. Somehow, they’ve even managed to match their outfits, form-fitting gym wear in glossy black and bands of purple that sighs into their dips and spotlights every curve. Yuuri musses the back of his head as Victor walks to him, heartbeat set to break its speedometer when Victor dusts at something near to his collarbone.

“Lint,” Victor whispers, gesturing to the compact handle-bag he’s carrying which Yuuri drops his phone and wallet into; he then takes Yuuri’s bag and heads to the lockers that line the wall across from them. Yuuri gapes after him, floored. Victor is _impossible_ , as dizzying as the swell of the afternoon heat that steals the chill from the tropical breeze, and all Yuuri can do is accept that he’ll probably be a melting pot of nerves, disbelief, and pure adoration for the foreseeable future.

Compared to their lunchtime stroll though, the weather is a notch more balmy as they near their their first stop. Through a set of sliding doors and outside to the rear of the building is a diabolical looking contraption called the Dragonfly. True to its name, the safety chart on the podium beside the ride suggests mayhem, or so Yuuri’s stomach seeks to convince him. Victor seems to be having the same dilemma, examining it with nervous frown, but one glance at each other seals the unspoken challenge; there’ll be no backing down from anything today.

“Well, I guess I’ll start. I’m an amateur calligrapher,” Yuuri says as the conductor takes their bag and ushers them to the high-backed seats, strapping them into the ride. “There’s this amazing Instagram calligrapher from California who I recommend to anyone looking for that kind of personalized service, and she's been teaching me for about a year and a half.”

“Wow, that's pretty amazing. I wasn’t expecting that.” Victor is evidently delighted that Yuuri is the one who’s volunteering information first, as per their recent deal. He tilts his head, and Yuuri smiles in anticipation of him returning the favor, until Victor casts a diffident look at the position they’re in. The harness that loops over their shoulders and around their waists is comfortable, if a little tight, and the cushioning is plush against Yuuri’s backside. But a gulping Victor doesn’t seem interested in those specific details, eyes veering up to the pivot they’re attached to.

“Wait, does this go upside down? I skimmed that part in the brochure.”

“I think it does.”

“Oh, well, that’s good. Really, um, exciting,” Victor grips the handlebars until his knuckles border on transparent. Yuuri dissolves into the laughter when the ride jerks to life, caught in the chorus of Victor’s whine turned squeal as the Dragonfly picks up speed. “I take it back, Yuuri, I take it– AHHH!”

He doesn’t throw up and is as giddy as ever despite the shrieks, but Victor is still a pungent shade of green by the end of it. Victor takes a minute to lounge on the squishy chairs in the nearby patio, one leg tucked under him and the other freely wobbling. Yuuri brings iced water in a lidded plastic cup from the canteen, and an evanescent smirk to the table; but it’s hard to show any degree of smugness because despite his discomfort, Victor continues to smile expectantly at him.

_How can he be so adorable?_

“This never happens when I spin around the apartment with Makkachin,” Victor jokes, downing half the bottle and pointing to the ride. “I’m always up for any kind of theme park ride, even if I get a little nervous at the beginning, but that was fucking evil.”

“As evil as a three hour conference call on the weekend?”

“Ha! I’ll take the Dragonfly any day.” Victor winks. “Now, it’s my turn, isn’t it?” Victor’s eyes rove over Yuuri’s ensemble and like the slow rise of a cork from a bottle of something delicious, Victor’s grin looks ready to pop. “I’m a certified Zumba instructor, have been for about three years.”

Yuuri blinks, mind an assorted box of alluring mesh spandex options from that website Phichit loyally patronizes, one for every flavor of Yuuri’s exponential want. God, would there be any color, any design, any sultry booty short Victor couldn't rock? ( _No. No there wouldn’t._ )

“You're kidding.”

“Nope! But I asked not to be listed on their website. I just keep up with it at a studio in New York and I lead classes sometimes when I'm in the mood. It’s more for stress relief than anything else.”

“Same with me learning calligraphy. The best thing about it is that it helps me manage my anxiety, almost as well as adult coloring books do.”

“Can you show me?” Victor rummages in the bag and finds a black felt marker which he passes to Yuuri. “I know it isn't the same but....”

“No, this works fine. Do you have some paper?”

Victor shrugs, pink dusting his cheeks, fond gaze aimed at Yuuri’s hands. “I have some post-its, but I want you to write it on my arm, if that’s okay.”

Yuuri knows Victor can see the way his fingers are trembling; but at this point, with what they both so obviously feel, what reason would there be to hide it from him? He uncaps the pen, and brings Victor’s right forearm to him, shimming his chair so that it inches closer to his goal. Victor is all lean muscle and decadent warmth, and Yuuri’s keen inhale manifests without any shame as he pens two short lines, lyrics he’s always associated with Victor.

_‘Look at the stars, look how they shine for you.’_

“Beautiful,” Victor whispers, “and you have excellent taste in music. I saw them live in Miami in twenty-twelve. It was an amazing experience, even if I was alone.”

“Well, if you’re looking for company for the next one…” Yuuri says coolly, and Victor locks eyes with him, promising answer waving over gleaming ocean blue. “Okay, Mr. Instructor. Care to give a demonstration?”

Victor raises an eyebrow. “Here?”

“I showed you mine,” Yuuri says cheekily.

“Can’t argue with that.” Victor slides from his chair, careful to keep his arm away from his clothes; he taps and scrolls for a moment before giving Yuuri his phone with a wide grin. “Start this when I give you the signal.”

It only takes one wide-eyed look at the Ariana Grande and Nicki Minaj remix, and Yuuri is on his feet, bags in hand as he hustles Victor to the next attraction. Victor barks a knowing laugh, leaning easily onto Yuuri as he goes beet red.

 

* * *

The park’s go-karts remind Victor of aged lawnmowers, a frivolous thought that he shares with Yuuri along with stories of him lying in freshly trimmed grass after chasing Makkachin around the backyard of his parent’s estate. And similar to his tale of food poisoning at lunch, Victor doesn’t feel silly telling Yuuri these things. What makes the tidbits come so easily is the way Yuuri hangs on to his every word, in much the same way Victor does for him. He’s not accustomed to that outside of professional conversations, and he’s certainly never felt inclined to talk about himself sans a public relations script. But here he is, and every time Yuuri presses him for more information, Victor’s chest bursts with a healthy round of fireworks.

“My parents own a small chain of hotels off the west coast,” Yuuri says as he braces himself against the railing, looking out at the technicians still prepping the rather unsturdy looking vehicles parked at the beginning of the track. “I spent most of my childhood running through lobbies, having the cooks sneak me all of kinds of desserts, and learning everyone’s names across the six hotels. Our branding consultant, Minako, she’s one of the reasons I entered this industry.”

“You know Minako?” Victor’s eyes bulge. " _The_ Minako? New York Times bestselling author and creator of one of the most legendary marketing hubs on the web, Minako Okukawa?”

Yuuri smiles at the veneration. “The one and only. She and my mom have been best friends since they were five. They used to do ballet and went to school together.”

“That is so fucking cool! And a very well-kept secret,” Victor points out. “I haven’t seen any article about you make that connection.”

“Minako doesn’t publicize the work she does with us, because in her words ‘It wouldn’t be as fun if I did’. She’s gracious that way, always has been.”

“I guess I have no choice but to ask, then. Is it true that she can count cards?”

Yuuri’s lips curl none too delicately. “Now which insecure executive did you hear that from?”

“Oh, there’s more than one salty higher-up out there, trust me. But the rumor, because it’s just a rumor, right?” Victor giggles as Yuuri looks off to the sky, his profile a stunning vista that almost derails Victor’s upcoming gem of a confession. “Well, it was my inspiration for learning to count cards myself.”

Yuuri’s head snaps to him. “What?”

“Don’t worry. I keep my visits to Vegas, Atlantic City, and the like very professional. Most days.”

“Oh my God,” Yuuri slaps a hand over his face and hisses through a budding smile. “Wait a second, is that why you wouldn’t join the group of us at the Venetian during our last night at CES?”

“They’ve had their eye on me ever since I cleaned up at the blackjack table last year.” Victor winks. “Is this the part where you lecture me about my potential criminal ways?”

“I actually think it's kind of hot.”

“Hot, you say…”

Yuuri smirks indulgently. “Yes, in a we’re-going-to-forget-we-had-this-conversation-because-I-don't-own-proper-court-clothes kind of way.”

Victor doubles over with stitches. “I give all the winnings to local dog shelters.” Yuuri’s smile softens as he continues, “I do it mostly as tribute to a very great woman, and well, sometimes I just like to entertain myself. Haven't you ever wanted... _needed_ to feel that kind of thrill, Yuuri?”

Victor doesn’t even mask how flirtatious he’s being with that question, treading into Yuuri’s space with an inviting smile. Yuuri, seemingly unaffected by the proximity (save for him fidgeting with the blue accent of his glasses), turns to Victor with the most innocent upturn of his mouth, tongue flashing wet between his lips.

“I'm licensed to fly a commercial jet,” Yuuri states with a collected wink of his own. The conductor calls to them and he strolls off to his assigned cart, leaving Victor to count all the hearts he just grew, a number that shows no end as they circle the small-scale course. The acceleration is capped and sometimes the carts jostle like an unchecked jackhammer, but that does nothing to deter them. More times than not, Yuuri wallops into his cart and speeds away, laughing when Victor sticks his tongue out and fights to catch up to him. By the time the carts’ power winds down, and they make their way back to the waiting platform, they’re a tangle of limbs and endearments, arms around each other’s waist, breathless with glee.

“I should convince my parents to build a track like this one at the estate, then we’ll always have a place to ourselves if we ever want to do this again.” Victor wipes tears from under his eyes, pausing when Yuuri’s fingertips spasm against his rib. Yuuri’s expression is striking, curious, and it takes Victor a moment for his brain to catch up with what he said.

“Um,” Victor pulls a face, and murmurs ‘Why am I like this?’ in Russian. “Was that too presumptuous?”

Yuuri’s head moves from side to side, slow but emphatic given the spark in his eyes that Victor remembers all too well. He doesn’t supplement the altogether effortless look with any words, only smiles up at Victor as he steers them to the main building.

“Let’s head inside, it’s getting really warm out here.”

He isn’t wrong, but as they practically dawdle to the indoor portion of the park, Victor gets the impression that it wouldn’t bother Yuuri if they stood out here in the growing swelter, secured in each other’s embrace. There’s a levity about Yuuri and, Victor dares to assume, a sense of longing in his gaze. Should he...should he kiss Yuuri now? _Can_ he? Is it too soon? Oh God, it’s definitely too soon–

“Victor?” Yuuri tugs at him and he finds himself just about to walk face-first into a glass door.

Victor gives a short laugh and a lasting blush. “Whoops. I was just thinking that you’re right. I always enjoy the tropics, especially when I’m here while the temperature’s dropping back in New York. But yes, some air condition would definitely do us good.”

The cooler air inside the facility does ease the sweat beading at Victor’s forehead and neck, but it does nothing to quell the sunstorm that zips along his veins. Victor points in some direction or the other when Yuuri prompts him about what they should try next, shiver sprinkling over the cake that is Yuuri’s arm still snug around him.

When they finally part at the base of the stairs that leads to the jungle ropes, Victor’s arm remains outstretched for a few awkward seconds. He thankfully finds purchase in the harness that an observant and chuckling attendant offers him, and even more merciful is Yuuri’s preoccupation with their impending climb. Victor follows Yuuri’s gaze up to the ropes that stretch like webbing above them, traversing at least half of the building in eye-catching neon. Uncertainty flickers in Yuuri’s expression as they’re attached to several large hooks, before making their way up to the high-rise obstacle course. There are circular and hexagonal foot paths for the uninitiated, double ropes that run parallel to each other for the more daring, and lines varying in breadth for those wanting that true tightrope feel.

This activity is not exactly a high point for Yuuri.

“Nice pun, Nikiforov.”

“Are you going to use my last name whenever you get cheeky? Because I like that very much.”

“Oh, well, _fuck–”_ Yuuri slips but doesn't actually go anywhere because he's safely connected to the harness. Their escort looks on at the shenanigans, laugh coughed into her hand as Victor smirks. Yuuri silently squints in apology for his foul mouth, eyebrows knitted together so tightly in his concentration that Victor’s can’t help but tease him.

“Don’t look down, _Katsuki_.” Victor saunters around him and to the other side of the double ropes like he’s walking on air, “I thought a pilot would be used to this.”

“I may have tried to fly off of my roof with a blanket when I was six. Thirty-thousand feet I can handle, somehow, but this brings back memories of a very painful broken nose.”

“Did you wear goggles when you jumped?” Victor leaps onto another rope platform when Yuuri kicks a foot after him. “You’re adorable!”

“And you’re ridiculous!”

“Oh, that I know,” Victor sings. “I love heights. I've loved them since my early days in advertising. Mila and I had a motto — if you’re afraid of falling, then don't look down. So, I tried my best not to be afraid, and it worked, for the most part.”

Yuuri flusters with the hook, feet lugging as though filled with cement when he turns to face him. “Until you met me?” Victor makes a seesaw motion with his hand and Yuuri nods thoughtfully. “What about now?”

Victor hesitates, hopping over to him and extending his hands; Yuuri rests his own in them, inhaling so loudly that his chest puffs out in a wholly distracting way. A strangled noise is teeming on Victor’s tongue as he studies Yuuri, from the tips of his well-worn Nike sneakers and ascending to an expressive and trusting smile. Victor can’t quite say he’s not scared because it’s crazy to feel so strongly, no matter how long he’s harbored his devastating crush. The everlasting hourglass that is today might show no signs of turning over and resetting and taking Yuuri away from him again but…

“A little,” Victor confesses. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Being honest with me?” They take baby steps towards the stairs, and Yuuri rubs his thumbs at the sides of Victor’s palms. “What can I do?”

“You’ve done more than enough, Yuuri,” Victor assures him. “This,” he wiggles his hands, “is more than enough.”

“So, no kiss then?” Yuuri, betrayed by his own inside voice, makes a valiant attempt to stop his knees from vibrating, but there’s no covering the rosy bloom of his cheeks. Victor drinks both those observations in, mind still with a wonderful thought:

_He’s a dork...just like me._

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Victor says softly. “But if you still want to do something, how about you show me your wack-a-mole skills?”

They fill their bag with tokens at the cashier and eeny-meeny-miny-moe their way over to the beeping, bopping arcade machines. Victor discovers that Yuuri is a master of strategy, but wrestles with the faster paced arcade games. He destroys at Pac-Man, while Victor zooms past in him in the Daytona racing simulator. They’re both utterly hopeless with Street Fighter, neither of them having any grasp of the combos, though their button mashing and joystick twirling lead to some very lucky ultimate moves.

“I haven't been inside an arcade in years. I've been holding out on myself.” Victor bounces over to the wack-a-mole device, and they feed it a few coins to awaken the critters lurking in its depths.

“It’s really nostalgic,” Yuuri agrees, smacking the colorful moles back into their holes with the fuzzy mallet. “So, in the spirit of video games, this is probably a great time to tell you that I moonlight as a speedrunner.”

“ _No.”_

“Mmhmm, I'm in the top ten for about three retro titles. Took a few years, though, and a lot of sleepless nights. I don’t have that kind of time anymore but I still provide tips on the website, and I volunteer for Summer Games Done Quick.”

“Yuuri, that is so cool!” Victor praises. “I have a massive stock of card games and obscure tabletop games.”

“Okay, that's _much_ cooler.”

“When I go home to the estate, it’s usually filled with extended family and friends. They love trying new things, so I started collecting them.”

“I’d love some recommendations.”

“Sure! And I’d love to hear more about your speedruns.”

It’s been an afternoon of connecting the dots, and bringing a perfect date to life. Yuuri smiles and closes his eyes, so peaceful and beautiful as he simply says, “Then, I guess we can make that into another date”; it’s a response that, for once, doesn’t have Victor being afraid of the fall.

 

* * *

It takes a comparison of both their inboxes and the blitz of missed calls before they decide to sit still for about fifteen minutes. Yuuri doesn’t mind, especially since they attend to the more urgent ones by picking at a large soft pretzel, and shaking with silent giggles over an impromptu and overly handsy game of rock-paper-scissors.

The many red exclamation marks that dot their emails, though, isn’t enough to have them call it a day just yet. They make a second and third pass at the go-karts, and then exhaust themselves hopping from end-to-end of the trampolines. It doesn’t take long for them to topple over and roll to each other, wheezing with laughter after showing off their many flips and cartwheels, or lack thereof. They stray into easy conversation, inevitably resting atop the springy floors to catch their breath.

It’s nearing evening when they sit on the trunk of the rental, legs swinging and feet flexing in the cute grip socks they didn’t have to return. All their belongings and winnings from the arcade tickets were strewn over the backseat some minutes ago but somehow, they never actually made it into the vehicle. Victor, with a lovely doodle of a smile, glanced at Yuuri from the opposite side of the car before shutting the door and climbing onto their current position. Yuuri joined him, soft wind in their hair an ode to an unbelievably relaxing afternoon. They look out at the stretch of ocean, a contented quiet between them; Victor nudges him gently, hair fluttering as he runs a hand through it.

“I haven't had fun like this in a long time,” he says. “Sometimes I think that the only breather I get from work is when I'm running through an airport. Mila and Sara always tell me I'm a bit of a workaholic but...I don’t think it’s that.”

“What is it, then?”

“Well, there hasn't been anything or anyone who’s made slowing down worth it.”

Yuuri looks at Victor, features dense with affection. “I get the same thing from Chris and Phichit all the time. But today made up for all of it, all the months and years, probably, that lacked any kind of spontaneity.” Victor bows his head, whispering in Russian and Yuuri blushes as he translates in his head. “Usually my idea of spontaneous is ordering in a pizza and eating the entire thing by myself.”

“Pizza sounds perfect!” Victor claps his hands together. “Are there any good places around here?”

“There is, actually.” Yuuri pulls out his phone and does a quick Google search, showing Victor the highly rated Italian restaurant that his colleagues recommended some days ago; Victor nods approvingly.

“I guess we have dinner covered.”

Victor beams at him, shifting a little closer so that their shoulders brush. Yuuri loves that; loves the delicacy of it, how volatile and soothing the space between them is, how much he wouldn't mind if it went either way. He extends his legs, wiggles his feet, laughs when Victor does the same and pokes playfully at his instep. The silliness is contagious, and neither of them give any real concern to the time or the overcast clouds rolling in from the horizon or the message and email alerts that haven't stopped in the hours they were together. For two men who have fine-tuned a very specific professional persona, Yuuri’s breath is stolen every other second by his and Victor’s beautiful cruise to the other end of the spectrum.

“So, what are you up to after this trip?” Victor asks, eyes focused on the sea in front of them. Yuuri notes the pretty red creeping down the back of his neck and the way his shoulders square; heart on his sleeve and defenses ready to surround it. It's the kind of inward glimpse that Yuuri would never find on a stage or in one of Victor’s books. He smiles and wonders, without an ounce of cutoff in the thought, whether Victor’s neck would deepen in its blush if Yuuri were to kiss him there.

“I promised myself that I’m taking at least a week off. Maybe I'll fly somewhere secluded and disconnect for a while. You?”

“I have an engagement in New York, a proposal due after that, and then a few days to play around with. Haven’t really thought about what I’ll do with them.”

They let the information soak in, glancing at each other with soft smiles that poke hopefully at the undertones. Yuuri, however, doesn't ever want them on the wrong page again. He doesn’t want to hope, he wants to _do_ , and above all, he wants to step into that unknown with Victor, and Victor only.

“I want…” Yuuri short circuits and shivers with his own boldness. He turns to Victor, guides his bangs from his eyes so he can see the entirety of his face. Victor startles but leans into the touch, and the knots in Yuuri’s stomach prepare to cannonball right out of him.

“I want to do more stuff like this with you,” Yuuri says and the happiness that spreads across Victor’s face melts Yuuri’s heart like chilled butter across hot toast. “And...if you don't have anything planned during those days off, we can meet up, maybe have that third date?”

“Yes.” Victor curls one of Yuuri’s more stubborn tufts of hair behind his ear, giggling when it puffs out again. “I'd like that very much.” He thumbs at Yuuri’s earlobe and smiles. “Are you as nervous as I am that we’re doing this?”

“You have no idea how many wrongs turns I took when we were driving because I was freaking out.” Their laughter echoes through the parking lot and Yuuri buries his face in his hands for a moment; something occurs to him and he looks up. "By the way, Victor, what was that word you called me when we were walking to lunch?”

Victor instantly goes flame red. “W-What?”

“I’ve been learning Russian,” Yuuri reveals. “Not as often as I'd like because I can’t keep up with the online class but I recognized some of what you said before and just now.”

“Oh…” Victor shakes his head, not meeting Yuuri’s eyes. “You didn't include that in your LinkedIn profile.”

“There are a few things I tend to keep to myself.” Yuuri tucks a finger under Victor’s chin, brings his face back to him. “Thank you for what you said, and trust me, the sentiments are mutual. The only one I couldn't parse was something beginning with ‘z’.”

“Ah. Well. Um. _Yarkaya zvezda_. It translates to ‘bright star’.”

“Oh.” Yuuri says, face as pink as Victor’s own. “That’s very sweet.”

Victor’s fingers sneak over Yuuri’s own, lighter than than the passing breeze and as maddening as a one bar wi-fi signal. Yuuri raises his own fingers in the in-between, interlaces them, lets the intimacy wash over him in a heady rush.

“I remember the first time I saw you present in New York. I was about six months out of university, and still figuring out which aspects of marketing I should focus on.” Yuuri scrolls through his gallery and shows Victor the photo of him from that event. “Not only were you...beautiful, but you touched on all the things I spent my degree pushing towards. Reading about you, watching those older interviews, nothing came close to seeing you on that stage in person.”

Victor looks at the picture, then at Yuuri, smile more fond than any he showed Yuuri all day. He fishes for his own mobile, tapping into a folder marked only with ‘<3’. Yuuri stares at a shot of himself at his first TED Talk where he showed the audience how 404 errors could be used to build better relationships between customers and brands.

“Victor…” Yuuri is stunned; that Talk wasn't publicized, a _very_ last minute time-slot that was as lucky as the traction it created for him later in his career. “How? Pictures aren't allowed during the Talks.”

“Pictures weren’t allowed during my session either but that didn't stop you.” Victor smiles. “I sat in the wrong theatre and when you walked out instead of the person they had listed in the programme, I had to bite my tongue because it was _actually_ you. I followed all of your projects, especially anything publication you wrote for or contributed to, but none of it came close to seeing you on that stage in person.” Victor’s voice dips shyly. “I've liked you for a long time, Yuuri, just in case that wasn't clear.”

Yuuri squeezes his hand, dreams of months upon months of _this._ “I like you too, Victor. I hope that’s clear now.”

“It is.” Victor closes the photo, and accesses the camera instead. “Do you want to take a selfie with me, Captain? We’ve never taken one together.”

“Only if I can get a signed copy, Instructor.” Yuuri smiles brightly when he sees them both on the screen, then his spine ripples, vision darkening suddenly when Victor presses a soft kiss on the cusp of his jaw, camera clicking in time with the divine and unexpected contact.

“You’ll send that to me, please.” Yuuri is breathless and glowing, head finding the the edge of Victor’s shoulder as his body warms and his heart throws a tremendous parade in his chest.

“For your blog?” Victor whispers into his hair and Yuuri sputters out a laugh at the timely memory.  

“No. This one is for our eyes only.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos and love welcome <3
> 
> [Follow me on Twitter](https://twitter.com/AlexWSpark)   
>  [Find me on Tumblr](https://alexwspark.tumblr.com/)


	7. I Need a Guy Like You (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited final parts of a story that helped me survive a terrible office job <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been hard. I'm still wrapping my head around the details. Through it all, I couldn't stop thinking about YOI, my WIPs, and this fic in particular. Tonight, it just won't leave me alone. I can't promise much right now, but I can share the pieces I have. 
> 
> Love you all <3

**Six Months Later**

**San Francisco**

**Thursday**

**Three days to Phichit and Chris’ wedding**

 

_To: Yuuri Katsuki_

_...Many thanks again for your contributions over the past few years. It has been a pleasure working with you. I look forward to your response when you’re back from your vacation, and if you require any clarifications, please don’t hesitate to let me know…_

_Regards,_

_Yakov Feltsman_

 

“Holy shit.” Yuuri muses for the umpteen time. He falls back into his chair, arms extended over his head as spins around and basks in a tenth re-read of the unanticipated email. When he woke that morning to Victor’s warm and inviting ‘I miss you’ voice note, and Phichit hurtling through his apartment like a category five hurricane, all Yuuri expected from the day was last-minute wedding jitters and a final bout of frantic packing. Yuuri had no warning for Yakov Feltsman, his oldest mentor, reaching out to him with a correspondence chock full of surprises. And damn, if it doesn’t feel good to be on the receiving end of such a golden opportunity.

His chair turned merry-go-round slows, and he leans towards his laptop, scanning the message again, all at once dazed and thrilled at what potentially awaits him over the next few of months. It’s funny really, the timing of it. Considering the question he’s had for Victor, scribbled and tucked away next to his wheezing heart; if this isn’t some kind of divine intervention, then Yuuri will publicly eat his next marketing proposal.

Yuuri can already imagine Victor’s reaction to the email; the delight that would conjure stars in his eyes, inspiring a grin so affectionate and a cheer so infectious that Yuuri wouldn’t have a moment to catch his breath. But who’s Victor if mischief and magic aren’t crinkling his features? Who’s Victor if he’s not red-cheeked yet impossibly relaxed as he openly admires Yuuri without an ounce of shame?

His eyes fall on the framed photo on his desk; Victor and him sitting on the rental car outside of Five Islands, Victor’s lips nuzzling softly against his jaw. Yuuri dissolves into a private laugh at his own wide-eyed and flushed expression. Oh, what wouldn’t he give for a kiss or ten right this second instead of two days from now, when Victor is scheduled to arrive in St. Lucia.

It’s not exactly some well-kept secret that Yuuri spends an inordinate amount of time daydreaming about his boyfriend’s lips and everything attached to it. It’s an inescapably and frankly, worthy diversion from his day-to-day routine, even if it requires multiple proofreads of his documents for any accidental reference to Victor’s flawlessness. He almost embarrassed himself a few days ago during a Skype presentation to a graduate marketing class; thank God he caught the slide that said ‘not only via Victor’s dick but also as’. It was supposed to read ‘via video downloads’. He spent the remainder of the session apologizing for his breathless stutter by blaming it on the malfunctioning air-condition in his apartment.

As risk-inducing and heart-pounding as it can be, reminiscing about his time with Victor is worth every distracting second. Doubly so that they’re dabbling in the exhilarating and admittedly demanding adventure that is a long distance relationship. It’s why his best friends’ initial decision to spend the week leading up to their big day apart had Yuuri more anxious than the both of them combined. On Monday, Phichit commandeered Yuuri’s sofa bed while Chris tied up a few loose ends with their apartment as they prepped for their big post-wedding move.

Three days later, they renounced their ‘unendingly romantic _and_ moronic’ show of traditional love but had no choice but to make that heartfelt declaration over video. Chris jetted off to St. Lucia with his parents on Tuesday afternoon, and given Phichit whooshing back and forth since daybreak, he’s impatient to meet his fiancé there. He and Yuuri are due in the airport in a few hours for their twelve-hour journey, and Phichit seems intent on taking advantage of every single pound their luggage weight limit allows.

“Yuuri! Where’s my lucky socks? I can't find them!”

Yuuri tilts his head off the side of the leather headrest. “The black ones with the multi-colored pineapples?”

“Yes!” Comes Phichit’s frenetic grumble and Yuuri stifles a chuckle. Phichit’s been nothing but a ball of uproarious tension all week, and try as he might, Yuuri can’t remember ever seeing him so riled up.

“Have you checked behind the stove?”

“The _stove_? Why the fuck would they- oh! Wow. They’re actually here.” A long and introspective pause follows. “So, how drunk was I last night?”

Yuuri whistles, forgoing words because much of Phichit’s impassioned speech from yesterday is recorded and now littered throughout Yuuri’s edited best man speech. Phichit’s colleagues treated him to a rambunctious night, complete with cowboy hats, multi-colored shots, and a mechanical bull. During the festivities, the hotel in St. Lucia was kind enough to inform Yuuri that Chris was positively pining, and would there be any chance of them arriving even an hour earlier to take him off their bartenders’ hands. Phichit promptly snatched up the phone, and went about consoling Chris himself, loud enough that the entire bar got involved in a rendition of Maroon 5’s _Sugar_.

“That bad, huh?” Phichit frowns his way into Yuuri’s bedroom. “How am I even walking right now?”

“No idea, but I’m not about to question the universe. She’s clearly on your side this weekend, and that’s all we need to know.” Yuuri waggles an eyebrow. “So, do I win the bet?”

Said bet was Yuuri knowing his friends would cave before the week was out and Phichit adamantly denying it in the name of love. It’s mildly surprising that Phichit doesn’t try to weasel his way out of the five hundred dollars he now owes Yuuri. “Hell. _Yes._ There’s no way I can keep this up for another three days. Our video call fucking froze last night as Chris was unbuckling his pants! How is that even possible when you have a fibre-optic connection?!”

“Of course it did, and _of course_ you remember that and not where you put your socks.”

Phichit rolls his eyes. “I can't believe we did this to each other. I need to kiss my man, _now.”_

Yuuri grins. “So much for cold feet.”

Phichit waves his socks, face red with emotion. “That’s what the socks are for, Yuuri! And who has time to be nervous when the actual man of your dreams is waiting for you in one of most beautiful places in the world? God, I miss him.”

“Really? I haven’t noticed.”

Phichit pouts. “Uh huh. Don’t come crying to me when Chris starts teasing you about Victor.” Yuuri chuckles and Phichit huffs through a light-hearted smile. “You know, there were so many times we almost eloped, but in the end what we really wanted was to share this with the people we love. And, well...”

“Yes?” Yuuri ventures carefully because Phichit is eyeing him with the kind of sudden and fond intensity he usually reserves for his hamsters before he dresses them in all manner of superhero cosplay.

“Oh, fuck it. We hate keeping secrets from you, but we really did try this time. We told Victor, cornered the poor man actually, because we thought that would help keep our own mouths shut.” Phichit takes Yuuri’s hands into his own and squeezes. “Yuuri, Chris and I want you to give us away at the wedding.”

Yuuri nearly topples out of his chair. “What?! Me?! Phichit, that’s...that’s too much! I'm not-”

“Family? Yes, you are. From the first day we met you, actually. Chris and I were planning to surprise you in St. Lucia but I may still be slightly drunk, and this is as good a time as any for you to know what you mean to us. Do you really think that all those times you went out of your way for us, that we were kidding when we said we’d repay you?”

“Phichit, you don’t need to-”

“Fundraising for Chris’ salon?”

“Phi-”

“Freelancing for my team when we were understaffed? Sans pay?”

“I loved that project, it was worth every-”

“Gifting us an interior decorator when we moved into our new apartment?” Yuuri tries to protest but this time, Phichit tugs him out of the chair and into a warm bear hug. “Oh hush. We love you, full stop. It might not be traditional, but this wedding is already such an unorthodox mix of people and places. Both our families agreed on it too, you’re the best person to walk us both down the aisle.”

Yuuri sniffles into Phichit’s shoulder. “I...I don't know what to say.”

“Say yes.”

“Yes. _Yes._ ” Yuuri crushes them together even more. “Of course I'll do this for you guys! I’d be honored.”

“It’ll be good practice too, having Victor watch you walk down the aisle.”

Yuuri sighs happily. “I'm on board with anything that makes him blush. He’s beautiful when he does.”

“Who’s the sap now?” They part, both of them not at all covert in wiping the dampness from their eyes. Phichit nods at Yuuri’s computer curiously. “What are you working on? I don’t know if you realized, but you’ve been softly cursing for the last half hour.”

“Oh! Right! Look at this, Phi!” Phichit ducks his head, and squints at the screen for a few seconds before he bursts into a scream and immediately, Yuuri is swept up in Phichit’s excited half-dance, half-embrace.

“Holy shit, Yuuri! Congratulations! I didn’t even know you were looking for a new opportunity.”

“I wasn’t. I mean, I speak with Yakov regularly, and he and I have collaborated on a ton of different projects but I didn’t think for a second that he had me in mind for something like this. I’m still trying to process it.”

“Well, you definitely deserve it, that’s for damn sure! Have you told Victor?”

“I literally just found out about it this morning. And...I’m not sure I want to say anything just yet.”

Phichit angles away from him, furrowing. “What? Why?”

“Because…” Yuuri closes his eyes and goes back to the last time he and Victor kissed. It’s preserved in his mind, as incandescent and loving as it always is. _Like holding the tide with a broom,_ Yuuri thinks, blinking and smiling tellingly at Phichit. “Because even though I’ve pretty much made _my_ decision, I don’t want to be presumptuous about it. I prefer to tell him in person, and then I can ask...well...you know.”

“Oh my God, that makes perfect sense!” Phichit’s eyes widen in anticlimactic awe. “Oh God, oh fuck, this is going to be a magical weekend, isn’t it?” He bounces on his heels, clutches his chest, and beams. Yuuri, looking ahead to an exhilarating vacation, follows suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't know, I'm off the socials. Feel free to reach out in the comments <3


	8. I Need a Guy Like You (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited final parts of a story that helped me survive a terrible office job <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been hard. I'm still wrapping my head around the details. Through it all, I couldn't stop thinking about YOI, my WIPs, and this fic in particular. Tonight, it just won't leave me alone. I can't promise much right now, but I can share the pieces I have.
> 
> Love you all <3

**Five Months Ago**

**Lake Tahoe**

_Well, there’s never been anything or anyone who’s made slowing down worth it..._

The thought breezes through Victor’s mind as he gazes at the crystalline lake fanning out before him. He adjusts the too-large blanket that Yuuri draped over his shoulder some time ago, and taps a foot on the patio in tune with Yuuri’s humming that echoes from the lake house’s kitchen. Yuuri found the property on Airbnb, a pristine cottage of glass and enduring wood, nestled in the lush forest like a treasured secret. A short walk out of the front door brings them to a private jetty and a slice of the lake completely secluded from other vacation houses in the area.

Given how hectic the last few days were, Victor is all too grateful to Yuuri for choosing a place so wonderfully and breathtakingly _quiet_.

There’s no bustle of people across city blocks, no honk of horns or drone of engines in a clogged grid of streets; no alarm to get him out of bed or meeting to rush to. Victor turns, propping himself against the banister and smiling at an oblivious and sashaying Yuuri on the other side of the wide open sliding doors. He closes his eyes, listens to the easy _clink!_ of glass, the sizzling of pork and egg in the pan, and the quick knock of steel on wood as Yuuri slices into a green onion. The song that Yuuri pairs with his cooking is none that Victor recognizes, but it’s soft, intimate and oh so charming, and it’s unlikely he’ll ever forget it.

Yuuri _is_ this place, all scenic beauty, crisp air and warmth in the undertones. When Victor arrived two days ago, in a haze of a disheveled suit and trench coat, and one too many extended meetings, he was out of breath, apologies traffic-jammed in his throat. He was met with an armful of Yuuri, who burst through the door and hopped onto him, toppling them both over with an emphatic ‘You made it!’. They lay there on the chilly patio, clinging to each other, Victor’s breath ragged with the feel of Yuuri buried comfortably in the crook of his neck, warm lips brushing his bare skin.

Their contact, whether deliberate or accidental, only multiplied from there; Yuuri tucking hair behind Victor’s ear and out of his eyes, Yuuri still groggy from sleep and leaning into Victor as he made them breakfast, Yuuri’s head in his lap as they bundled up and lounged under the stars...

Victor sighs, eyes fluttering open again and roving over Yuuri’s back. This might be their last day in Lake Tahoe, but leaving doesn’t mean everything ends; as they discovered during their short burst of time together in the Caribbean, things are only just beginning for them.

“You can come back in, if you want.” Yuuri’s says, glancing over his shoulder. His cheeks are plush crimson and his hair is swept back save for the flyaways stuck to his forehead thanks to the steady heat. “It’s almost ready.”

Victor perks at that but instead of rushing inside like his heart demands, he contents himself with a carefree wink and a bit of barefaced smugness. “Thanks, but I’m _really_ enjoying the view from out here. I hope you don’t mind.”

Yuuri rolls his eyes, coquettish in the smile that plays at the corner of his mouth as he returns to his task. “Suit yourself. It’s not like you were hovering over the tonkatsu before I marched you outside earlier.”

“I was just trying to help until a certain someone insisted I let him do all the work.” Victor smirks. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re really bossy?”

Yuuri’s sing-song laugh is as delightful as his humming, and Victor relents. He drapes the blanket over the banister, shuffles on the spot, feet dusting against the colorful ‘Welcome’ mat, before stepping inside and to Yuuri’s side. There are two bowls on the marble island already filled with fluffy rice, and Yuuri slides some fried pork cutlet and egg into each, garnishing them with a smile.

“Is it supposed to look so sexy?” Victor casually wonders aloud.

“Well, this _is_ katsudon.” Yuuri says proudly, but there’s no mistaking the deep red blossoming along his ears. “I’d be disappointed if it didn’t look as good as it smells.”

“And what about the cook?”

Yuuri raises his thumb to his lips, tongue flicking out to catch a few stray beads of the broth, looking at Victor with something akin to mischief, almost like they’re playing footsie without the inscrutability of a table. “Subjective.”

“I very respectfully disagree.”

“Oh really? And what’s your reasoning?”

“I think, sometimes, you’re too modest. I think Mr. I Can Fly A Commercial Jet that you have the world and more to offer.”

Yuuri’s quiet gaze is always remarkable thing, endearing and mysterious. But this one has an added quality, one that has Victor’s own heart playing raucous dodge ball with his brain since he arrived in Lake Tahoe.

That devastating _need_.

Victor gasps as Yuuri’s fingertips graze his jaw. It’s not a graceful reaction on his part but Yuuri’s eyes are trailing down to his lips and it’s an all-consuming moment that Victor doesn’t dare breathe into because _this is it_ , this is their-

_Brrrrrrrrrrrring!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't know, I'm off the socials. Feel free to reach out in the comments <3


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